October 2020
Midnight Writers
Table of Contents
Cover: “I Went Feral In The Woods In The Middle
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This Page: “I Went Feral In The Woods In The
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of The Night And All I Got Out Of It Was These Shitty Photos Pt.1,” a photograph by Calliope
Middle of The Night And All I Got Out Of It Was These Shitty Photos Pt.2,” a photograph by Calliope
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Ask Aphro & Dite
“Dear Moon,” a poem by Verovyva “650 Words Max,” a poem by Blue Serendipity “Tick Tock Clock,” a manga by Aya Hatashima
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• Someone asks how to safely celebrate Halloween during COVID • A very bored person asks for entertainment ideas
“Thoughts From Your Friendly Neighborhood Gargoyle,” a poem by Calliope “Gargoyle Guardian,” a photograph by The Calico Cat “Running Late,” a poem by Anonymous
• Blue recalls crazy stuff that happened in middle school
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The Hues of Blue
Monthly Otaku Column
• Aya talks about her submissions and mangas she liked
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“The Colorless World,” a story by The Midnight Raven “Falling,” a photograph by Bubbles
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“The Colorless World,” continued “A Stack of Apples,” a photograph by Blue Serendipity “The Willow Tree,” a poem by Luna
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“The Neighborhood Bad Luck Charm,” a story by Vérité “God of the Rivers,” an illustration by Bleach Lord
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“Four Angels,” an illustration by Aya Hatashima “The Neighborhood Bad Luck Charm,” continued
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“Water Well,” a story by Sewer Rat “A Forest Trail,” a photograph by Anonymous
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“Water Well,” continued “Beware the Heavens,” an illustration by Bleach Lord
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“The Burning Day,” a story by The Midnight Raven “Autumn Colors,” a photograph by Anonymous
“Clockshop,” a story by Vérité “Lighting,” an illustration by Cupid
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“The Room of Clocks,” a story by yxa “Moon With Hands,” a photograph by The Listener
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“Adelaide,” a story by Blue Serendipity “Halloween Decorations,” a photograph by The Calico Cat
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“Adelaide,” continued “Among Us,” an illustration by Cupid
Ask Aphro & Dite Dear Aphro,
The Hues of Blue
Hey Midnight Writers! I’m Blue Serendipity, or just Blue, the president of the club. Here I have a column all to myself to just talk about whatever I want, although I haven’t decided if it’s a good thing or not. Anyways, this month I’ve decided to tell you all about the crazy shenanigans that went on during this volunteer program in middle school called the Green Team. It was a fairly small group of about 10-20 people who would stay after school and empty out the recycling bins for SSL hours. There’s a couple things about that which makes this a little crazy. First of all, we weren’t really supervised. Second of all, everyone in the team were in some way friends with each other. Third of all, we were all left alone in a nearly empty school. One of the Dear Dite, I have been bored since the start of quarantine very first things we did was sit in one of the empty recycling bins and roll down the halls. I and social distancing. What do I do? would sit inside the large empty paper bin and Yours, Bored Bean my friend would push me. Then, we figured Darling Bored Bean, out we could take the wheels off of the bin and Yeah, being stuck at home all the time is sit on them like the little scooters in PE. Some pretty boring. If you like being outdoors, a good idea would be to go on hikes on various of us tried to stand on them and use them as a skateboard but me and a couple others would different trails and locations! It’s a super fun just sit on them and roll down the little hill way to get out of the house every once in a while and get exercise. If you don’t like being in the parking lot. Oh, but we actually did do outside, you could always look for dumb pho- our jobs though. We tossed a kid in the huge paper recycling bin outside and had him jump tos of your friends and photoshop them onto celebrities or funny photos. Trust me, looking around and stomp all the piles of paper flat so we could continue dumping more paper in. at them will spark so much joy. If you don’t After we did our jobs, we would hang out in like any of those options, then there’s probathe meeting room and eat pizza that our “subly a good reason why you’ve been so bored pervising teacher” bought for us. Once, when the past seven months. the teacher left to go to the bathroom, a couple With love, Dite kids managed to stick a pencil in this electrical panel near the stairwell and shut off the lights in the hall. Overall it was a super fun expereince and I got nearly all my SSL hours from it. I really want to celebrate Halloween this year, but I don’t know how. Any ideas? Yours, Halloween Enthusiast Dear Halloween Enthusiast, It’s pretty unfortunate COVID had to happen this year, especially since Halloween is finally on a Saturday. You should definitely carve a couple spooky pumpkins and decorate your front lawn with them. It’ll bring the Halloween spirit and you could compete with friends to see who can carve the best pumpkin! Another idea is to have someone in your family put candy in halloween colored Easter eggs and hide them around the house or backyard. With love, Aphro
issuu.com/midnightwriters wchs.midnightwriters@gmail.com
Monthly Otaku Column
Welcome to Midnight Writers! I am the vice president of this club, Aya Hatashima. I mainly draw manga (Japanese black and white comics) every month in this magazine and in this column, I talk about my comments on my manga and my recent interests. This month’s bonus theme was “clocks”, so I drew a manga about being chased by clocks. I hope this is relatable (especially for seniors this year) because I have been going through a lot of conflicts since the epidemic started earlier this year (sigh). I really felt like I was chased by clocks for the past few months and would never escape from it. One of the other themes was “Inktober” but I wasn’t able to draw every single theme (as all inktobers I experienced). This ink drawing is based on four angels, as representatives of four different elements: sky, earth, light, and night. I was inspired by religious renaissance paintings and early art block prints so I started drawing pen arts myself. I also was inspired by Kamome Shirahama, the author of the manga, Witch Hat Atelier, and Sawaki Takeyasu, the director of the game and author of the epic series, El Shaddai. Both of these authors have tremendous skill in ink drawing, revealing their unique art style that no one could copy. The style of Witch Hat Atelier reminds me of the medieval European block prints. I highly recommend reading Witch Hat Atelier. El Shaddai is one of the series that inspired me to take art history. The long epic that intertwines modern taste to the religious legends and epic of the past presents unpredictable twists to the plot, leaving me always excited to read the next novel. These two authors are definitely my admirations in art and lifelong creators.
Special thanks to Sra. Steele, Blue Serendipity, Aya Hatashima, The Calico Cat, Calliope, Bleach Lord, The Midnight Raven, Cupid, and Vérité. 3
The Colorless World
By The Midnight Raven *This story is based on the thought experiment “Mary’s Room” by Frank Jackson. “Mary’s Room” centers around the idea of a girl who has lived in a black and white room her whole life, and has spent all that time studying color although she has never seen it herself. The essential question of “Mary’s Room” is that, if one day, Mary sees a picture of an apple in color, will she learn something new?*
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The idea of the whole world can mean different things to each person. To some, it might mean the expanse of the globe, to others, it might be just an understanding of all the places they’ve traveled to and seen. But for Mary, her whole world was a single room. A room without windows or doors, a room containing no sign of color. From the black of the chairs and bed frame, the white of the sheets and small kitchen table only meant for one, to the screen of her computer which glared back a pale, white glow. But Mary was content in this life, she had never known anything different. She slept and awoke when her body instructed her to, she cooked a small dish, often involving stewed black beans or creamy mashed potatoes, that she ate periodically throughout her conception of a day. In addition to that, Mary only occupied her time with one other thing. The study of color, a concept she herself had never experienced, but for hours at a time, in front of her computer screen or hunched over one of the books that lined the floor to ceiling shelf, Mary learned of color and how the brain reacted to it. Mary had studied color for as long as she could remember, the days blurring but the knowledge unwavering. Mary herself had never seen her appearance, there were no mirrors in her world. Her skin was a ghostly
pale, she had never experienced the sun’s light herself, and she had long, ink-black hair that trailed down her back in tangled waves. But she knew nothing beyond that, never seen the blush to her cheeks or her complex eyes that shone with a color unlike any she had seen before. A certain book on the bookshelf, one whose black spine was splintered with cracks from constant use, had a chapter on something called the forest. Mary often came back to that chapter, and on one day, while sitting at the table, fingers tapping against the white material, Mary closed her eyes and tried to imagine it, a forest. The trees above, their branches moving with the wind, the feel of the ground beneath her feet. She tried to imagine the leaves, thinking of how a person’s mind reacted to seeing the color, tried to see it for herself. But she saw none, black leaves, a white sky, nothing. Nothing. There were no forests, no trees, nor cloudy skies in her world. Mary pushed back from the table, her mind swimming with irritation, and lay back on the soft sheets of her bed. Earlier that day she had washed them in her sink, white bubbles foaming around them. On the morning after 7 sleeps, Mary would awake to a basket of food sitting on her kitchen table, and she had grown used to washing her sheets and clothes on that same day. Something like awaking to fresh food was something entirely usual, expected, in Mary’s world. It was simply what she had always known, and that was that. Mary lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, her mind spinning. Color, color, color. It was all she had ever known without truly ever knowing it at all. Her eyelids grew heavy and Mary succumbed to the sleep that was calling to her. When Mary awoke, her head was throbbing. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced before. On many occasions, Mary had felt a dull pain in her head, a tightness around her forehead and neck. But what she felt now, it was a sharp and intrusive feeling, a throbbing prick underneath the skin
just in front of her ears. While she had slept, voices had entered her dreams, two that were considerably deeper than her own. Their words echoed in the back of her mind even now, implants, final day, Mary 4CB. Implants, final day, Mary 4CB. Mary, Mary, Mary. Mary had dismissed the voices, she knew no one else, there were no other people in Mary’s world. But her world was bigger than she believed. The pain stayed as Mary went through the day, as she prepared a bowl of black lentils and a piping hot cup of strong coffee. She perched on the edge of her chair, hands wrapped around the mug, and she inhaled the steam that billowed from it. For a moment, the scent and warmth seemed to calm her, ease the throbbing that persisted on both sides of her head. But then that feeling dissipated and the pain returned. Mary turned on her computer, leaning forward so one of her elbows could rest against the table, as the screen flickered on. She pulled up an article about the occipital lobe
“Falling,” Photograph by Bubbles
“A Stack of Apples,” Photograph by Blue Serendipity
and the stimulation of color, and her eyes began to scan the words. But as she finished out the first paragraph, her computer screen began to glitch, the article fading in and out, jumping with static. Then the words disappeared, and in its place was darkness. Then, a picture popped up. An apple, a fruit Mary had read about before. But it was in color, nearly glowing with it. The world seemed to slow, everything coming to a halt except for Mary’s mind. She was frozen in awe of the deep, rich color that the apple possessed. It was the most beautiful thing Mary had ever seen, and it nearly brought salty tears to her eyes. But then time seemed to pick back up again and Mary lurched back from her seat, the white chair toppling over to the ground with a thud. It was color, color, color, and she was seeing it. For a few moments after, Mary couldn’t breathe, she could hardly think, all she could do was stare at the glorious appearance of that fruit on her screen. What she had studied for her whole life, this mysterious but
overwhelmingly beautiful sight was real. Real. Then she heard a crash. The wall next to her bookshelf suddenly lifted to reveal a dark emptiness before a swarm of people rushed into the room, into her world. Everything was moving so fast and before Mary could shout in protest, someone pressed a syringe into her neck, releasing a dark and cloudy liquid. Mary’s eyes grew blurry and her vision began to be surrounded by darkness, by the blackness that she had always known. Mary felt her legs give way and she collapsed to the cool floor, her heart and breath slowing. In the final moments, she thought of the apple, that burst of color, before letting the dark surround her, engulf her. A man knelt down and pressed two fingers to the pale skin of Mary’s neck, checking to ensure the lack of pulse. Just last night, he had been in charge of adding the implants to each side of Mary’s head, so they could track her brain patterns when today finally arrived. The day they had been waiting 18 years for. 18 years since they adopted that tiny, infant girl from an orphanage, a girl that no one would miss. The man lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, before exhaling a cloud of smoke. He scanned the room, a space he and his colleagues had been monitoring all this time, he could finally be done with it. The white walls, the black furniture, Mary’s colorless world. Over 50 years ago was when the idea of “Mary’s Room” had first been established, and the question it introduced had still been left unanswered. Each side had its defenders and they had clung to their opinions like it was their last chance at survival. They couldn’t come to a solution without evidence, and that was when the idea of the experiment had begun. But today, the man and his colleagues had stood in silence as they stared at the monitors showing Mary 4CB as she watched the computer screen. Then he had pressed down on the button, which triggered the image to appear,
to let her see the apple, color. The implants had tracked her thoughts, her reaction, and everyone scrambled to write down every detail, every part of the answer. The man ran his fingers through his thinning hair and called for someone to get her out of here, the 4th Mary, the one they needed to solidify their evidence to support their claim. The man gritted his teeth and exhaled wreaths of smoke from the cigarette, tapping its ash onto the white floors. The man walked forward, watching them carry a limp Mary 4CB away from the room she had known for her entire existence. But they all knew this existence here had a time limit. On the other side of the opening to the room, a sheet of paper hung marked with the word “Outcome” in sprawling, messy letters. The man pulled a stamp and ink pad from his pocket and pressed the stamp into the paper with as much force he could muster without ripping the paper. Then he turned and walked from the paper, the embers of his cigarette bright in the darkness of the hallway. Walked away from the paper stamped with the words “Experiment Complete” in ink as red as glistening blood.
The Willow Tree By Luna
A curtain of gold, Riches that I cannot hold, It’s foliage, glittering and thin, Sway gently in the wind. It’s beauty is fading, It has been since spring. And soon it will be, Merely a bare skeletal tree. In the winter I refuse to look, To see it dark and black as soot. So now, in October, I admire the beauty before it’s over. 5
The Neighborhood Bad Luck Charm Vérité
“No, Sally,” I sigh, for the tenth time that day. “I’m telling you, that’s just Sam. He’s harmless.” “It’s a black cat!” Sally insists as she tries to reach for the doorknob. “They’re bad luck! We learned all about it in class today.” The real question is why I took up baby sitting if even this annoys me. “Sam is the neighborhood cat, Sally. He’s a sweetheart and he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Now, can we please go inside? You’re blocking the door.” She harrumphs but shuffles aside. “Well, I think he’s hiding something.” “He’s a cat.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sam scurry away, looking all in all like he belongs in a Halloween store or something. It’s true that he doesn’t look like a picture perfect adorable kitty, but hey. He’s our neighborhood cat. As far as I’m concerned that makes him perfect enough. We squeeze inside and Sally makes a beeline for the tangerines. She grabs as many as she can carry before struggling to stuff them in her backpack. Honestly, I’ve seen stranger obsessions from her. “Homework first!” “Fine. . .” she grumbles, and we spend the next hour productively finishing two math problems. Sam appears two more times throughout, each distracting her more than the last. The sun is setting by the time she and I are both done with our respective tasks, and her parents won’t be back until tomorrow morning. So, naturally, we end up “investigating” Sam. Of course it was mostly her idea. I can’t deny that puppy eyes do work on me every now and then. But to be fair, Sam’s routine today has been a little strange, reminiscent of that one scene from the Matrix. Ordinarily I’ll only see him a couple times a week at most. Today I’ve seen him twelve times. I’m keeping count. And why does he keep appearing in front of my place in particular? There’s a whole neighborhood out there. Do I have a dead mouse in my garden or something? Gosh, I hope not. Dead mice in your garden is not a good sign. So now we’re out and about, flashlights on in the settling dusk. No sign of Sam yet. Suddenly Sally gasps. “I see him! I see him!” She takes off running. “Sally! Get back here!” Who knew a second-grader could 6
run so fast? I catch up to her, and there he is, in all his glory. Sam, the neighborhood cat. Calmly sitting and grooming himself. He blinks up at Sally with lazy green eyes. He’s. . . startlingly far from our house. How did we get here so fast? I could have sworn we were only walking for a minute at most. “Okay, Sally,” I say, somewhat unseasily, “we found Sam. Can we go home now?” “No!” she pouts, “We have to investigate him for spreading bad luck in the neighborhood!” Sam meows plaintively. Bad luck in the neighborhood? That one’s new. Well, okay, there was that car crash a couple days ago. That was weird. And the fire in the house on the other side of the street. And that kid came back with a broken leg after going out to play, and the dog that ran away, and what the heck? This is seriously creepy. Okay, okay, but when I think about it, something ‘unlucky’ has happened to almost every family in the neighborhood. For heaven’s sake, there was a kid that went missing a couple months ago!
“God of the Rivers,” Illustration by Bleach Lord
“Four Angels,” Illustration by Aya Hatashima
Sam has only been around for half a year. Alright, this is ridiculous. A cat being to blame for our neighborhood problems? Sally doesn’t seem to think so though, because she’s back at it with the interrogation. “Are you aware of the fact that black cats like you are bad luck?” she says with a serious face. Sam meows. “Are there are any in-dent-sies--” “You mean incidents?” “Yeah, that! That your bad luck-iness caused?” At that, Sam scurries over to me and curls around my foot, throwing Sally a sad look. I pet him. He looks like he could use a break, honestly. Interrupting Sam’s purrs, Sally continues accusingly, “Have you thought about how you’re a danger to other people?” Sam meows again, then buries his head in my sweater as I sit down. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Sally’s accusations had hurt his feelings. They do that in second grade, right? Talk about each other’s feelings? Maybe I should ask Sally how she feels about this cat’s feelings. But I don’t. “So, what’d he say?” I ask instead, still petting Sam. Bad luck or no, he’s awfully cute.
“I don’t know!” Sally grumbles. “I don’t speak cat!” I groan. “So then what was the point?” Sally crosses her arms and turns her back on me like she’s read one too many Dork Diaries. “Well if someone finally confronts Sam about his actions, maybe he’ll stop being unlucky!” Okay, that’s fair enough. But he can’t exactly just stop being unlucky, can he? Sam doesn’t make a sound this time around. “You know what,” I say to Sam. “Bad luck or not, I sort of want to keep you.” “What?” Sally gasps loudly. “He’s bad luck!” “Maybe he just needs a friend. Now come on, let’s go home.” I get up, cradling Sam. It’s completely dark out now, and, if not for the streetlights, Sam would blend right in. It takes us a full hour to get home, and it would have even if Sally hadn’t been chattering and muttering all the way back. I don’t know what Sam did, but at this point I’m not above blaming him for any and every weird occurrence in my lifetime. I’m too tired to really care. We finally get inside. “You’re keeping bad luck inside your house! That’s a really bad idea!” “Sally, it’s my house. If I want to keep Sam, I’m keeping Sam. Plus, maybe his bad luck will work in our favor. Like a bad luck charm for everyone who wants to hurt us or something.” The look on Sally’s face is priceless. I swear, I can see a lightbulb go off in her head. She scrambles off to add fuel to whatever conspiracy theories she’s building, and I’m sure she’ll be telling her parents all types of wild stories when they pick her up in the morning. All in all though, the collateral damage of keeping Sam is minimal. Sure, another dish breaks every day in a place where Sam couldn’t possibly have reached it, and random things always go missing. But I haven’t had a single pest in the house since I decided to keep him, and I know Sam is too lazy to go chasing after them. And the neighborhood unfortunate incidents have abated, believe it or not. Whenever Sally asks, I just tell her Sam needed a friend. And, I mean, a cat’s supposed magic powers are none of my business. Who am I to say if Sam’s bad luck was cured by the power of friendship? Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. I’m anything but nosy. The only thing to really take away from this story is that I now have a pet cat. Any and all accusations of magical interference from either me or my cat I will neither confirm nor deny. Sally would be willing to look into it for you, though.
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Water Well By Sewer Rat
All the folk in the neighboring towns knew about the water well at the center of Scarborough, including Elfred and his dog, Deofol. Several times Elfred’s sister had warned him during breakfast to not to go near the center, dear brother, and take that wretched dog for protection. Strange things happen in Scarborough, but we need their herbs. Elfred hadn’t made any promises, but he was wary of that place too, and he’d taken his big dog anyways. Now, he walked along on the overgrown road that led northwards, pushing his cart of wool, Deofol at his heels. He looked around him, but the grassy hills were devoid of people; only clumps of stark trees and the autumn wind, and the walls of Scarborough in the distance. In a clear voice, he began to sing. Are you going to Scarborough Faire? Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme Remember me to one who lived there She once was a true love of mine Have her make me a cambric shirt Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme Without no seams, nor fine needle work Then she’ll be a true love of mine Tell her to weave it in a sycamore wood lane Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme Gather it up in a basket of flowers Then she’ll be a true love of mine Have her wash it in yonder dry well Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme Where water ne’er sprung, nor drop of rain fell Then she’ll be a true love of mine
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Tell her to dry it on yonder thorn Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme Which never bore blossom since Adam
was born And then she’ll be a true love of mine
“A Forest Trail,” Photograph by Anonymous
Deofol let out a playful howl. Elfred laughed. “Precious thing, you’re not even in tune.” Deofol looked up at him with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. He howled, and Elfred started his singing again, accompanied by Deofol. Their voices rose and fell with the rolling melody. Ask her to do me this courtesy Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme And ask for a like favour from me And then she’ll be a true love of mine Love imposes impossible tasks Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme Though not more than any heart asks. And I must know she’s true love of mine1 When thou has finished thy task. Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme Come to me my hand for to ask For then you’ll be a true love of mine. Elfred quieted, and the landscape was suddenly very silent. He had left out the woman’s stanzas. His sister usually sang those; he didn’t have them memorized. One of the front wheels hitched on a pebble. The cart jolted, and when Elfred looked up, a woman in a ragged gown was moving towards him, shuffling along the little road. Her hair tumbled immodestly round her shoulders, and she clutched her cap and hood to her chest. Deofol pressed protectively against Elfred’s legs. She stood to the side as Elfred moved closer, and stared at him with unblinking eyes as he passed. Elfred looked away-- she was rather improper and he feared causing her embarrassment-- but after a minute, he glanced back. The woman was gone, the landscape barren. He stopped a moment and looked again, but the
woman was nowhere to be seen. Deofol growled. “Thank you, boy,” Elfred said to him in a whisper, scratching Deofol’s ears. “But it’s alright. Perhaps she’s just been through something frightful.” He turned back ahead and pushed his cart. There was wool to be sold. Soon, he arrived at the outer walls of Scarborough and passed through its gates. Inevitably, he found himself moving gradually towards the center where there would be more people. He found the business of seamstresses and tailors, then when noon arrived, he bought an apple at a market near the center, pushing his cart along as he munched on it. As he moved down a street, he felt Deofol move away from his legs, trailing back. “What, dog?” he asked, stopping and staring at Deofol, who sat firmly on the gravel, tail curled around his front paws. Dragging his cart a few feet back, Elfred grabbed the scruff of Deofol’s neck with one hand-- the other being occupied with his apple-- and pulled him forward. “Come, you great lump,” he grunted, and when the dog didn’t budge, he looped his fingers round Deofol’s collar and heaved. Deofol whined and gave in, shaking Elfred off. Elfred exhaled, then push-
ing his cart down the street. It was oddly silent, but he caught the eye of an old man scrutinizing him through a window shop. The man had a tired, droopy face, and Elfred thought he glimpsed a scar below his eye. The man left the window. “My God,” Elfred muttered to Deofol, “this town is odd.” He tore another bite off the apple. The street led to an empty square. Elfred looked around. No people. Odd, since he was pretty sure he was still near the center. Deofol whined. In the center of the square, someone had covered something large with a tarp. Elfred ambled his cart towards it, bringing the apple to his mouth. Deofol began to bark, and Elfred froze mid-bite. This must be the Scarborough water well. His heartbeat quickened, and questions exploded in his mind. A tarp? Really? Who had dug the famed Scarborough well, anyways? He lowered the apple, marked with the cut of his teeth, and set it on the rim of the cart. Deofol moved close to him. Carefully, with the very tips of his fingers, Elfred lifted the tarp and uncovered the musty well. A rodent skittered out,
“Beware the Heavens,” Illustration by Bleach Lord
tail swatting at the air as it ran away. He let the tarp fall and stepped back. “Deofol, we should go,” he said quickly. He grabbed the cart and pushed it, and the apple fell off and hit Deofol in the face. “What are you doing here, boy?” Elfred whirled to face the voice. He found himself blinking at a woman with an apron over her blue dress. “I didn’t mean to intrude, madam. I’m simply--” “Oh, you needn’t be afraid of the old water well,” the woman chuckled. She moved across the square towards the hidden well and pulled the tarp off. The well was in disuse. Its stone was dirty, the wood rotted. There was no bucket. Nervously, Elfred moved to join her. He almost didn’t see her hand shoot towards him. She grabbed hold of his collar and yanked him downwards, into the well. Deofol barked. Elfred thrashed. Then Deofol was grabbed, too, by wrinkled white hands. The woman kicked at Elfred, and he fell on his hip onto the stone rim. He found purchase on a wooden post as the woman kicked at him. Elfred heard a shriek from Deofol, then saw the face of the old man from the window shop looming over him, behind the woman’s shoulder. A third person grabbed his leg—the woman with the unbound hair. Then all three contorted Elfred’s body and he felt the rush of falling, then a sudden jolt. Blinking to his senses, he floundered in the mucky water at the bottom of the well. “HEY!” he screamed, in between gasps. Three faces looked down at him, their features hidden in the shadows. “DEOFOL!” He reached for the slippery walls. Then he felt movement from below, and someone burst out of the water next to him “Are you him?” asked a delicate voice. A feminine face floated in his vision, and it took Elfred a few blinks
to realize she was speaking to him. Her skin was pale in the light, her eyes were too bright, and she wore a shimmering gown. “Who--” he gasped. “Who are you?” “My love, it’s you!” she cried. She lunged for him, and Elfred yelped as she threw herself on top of him. “They said it was impossible for us. They said we’d made a sung oath, that fate was against us.” Her voice echoed oddly, and Elfred clutched at her for his life. “So many others have come down here, but it’s finally you!” “Who?” Elfred choked. The water crept upwards. Far away, a dog howled. Her grip dug into his skin, and Elfred was reminded of his bitten apple. With soft splashing, the water rose. Elfred gasped for air and pushed at the woman in vain. The water rose around his face, and he writhed blindly. It was only a few seconds before his chest bloomed with a panicky pain. He sucked the water in and spluttered. Choking, he screamed weakly into the foul well water, for his sister, for Deofol. An agony like fire spread through him, along with the realization that he would not make it out of the Scarborough well. The square was silent. Someone had thrown the tarp back over the well. A half-eaten apple lay, forgotten, on the gravel. Deofol’s throat had gone sore. By nightfall, Elfred had not resurfaced. Someone had stolen the wool cart, at some point, but Deofol couldn’t run after him and leave Elfred. The wind seemed to whistle a familiar tune. The dog whimpered along in harmony. Somewhere in a nearby town, someone cleaned the dinner table and wondered if their brother was coming home. Notes: Poem is an English folk song from around the middle ages 1
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The Burning Day
By The Midnight Raven The streets were lined with burning candles that stood by the dusty glass of window panes, their soft glow eating away at the darkness of the night. The faint orange flames looked like a steady line of fireflies, trailing down the cobblestone streets that still glistened with the remnants of rain. Along this path of candles, a girl with an ornately carved wooden box moved swiftly, her auburn hair constantly lifted from her shoulders by gusts of chill wind. The girl tilted her chin up towards the sky, gazing at the glinting stars above her, and as she darted along the street, she let her mind wander. The Kingdom On The Ocean Cliffs was a small realm that lay far from any other neighboring civilizations. On the cliffs by the sea, facing towards the water, the kingdom sat, and behind it, rested miles of sprawling forest. The kingdom was concentrated around one main road, where a majority of the town lay on each side of. This lane led to the edge of the cliffs where a small, stone castle stood. At any point of walking through The Kingdom On The Ocean Cliffs, the girl could hear the sounds of the rushing waves and smell the sharp scent of salt and evergreen in the air. When getting closer to the forest, the evergreen scent grew stronger and it was a bit harder to hear the sea, but the faint crash of waves could still be heard against the rustling of wind through the tree’s branches. The girl blinked from her thoughts as she heard the faint sound of conversation coming from the direction of the night’s festivities. She smoothed down the navy blue, calico fabric of her dress as she slowed her pace to a quick walk, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. Over a century ago, 11 travelers left the oppression of their kingdom and set out to start anew. They traveled for months, through rain and sun, snow and storm, and after finally passing through the dense trees of the forest, they settled on the edges of the cliffs. With the breeze through their hair and the scent of sea salt strong, they started a bonfire and burned what they had brought with them, items that tied them down with memories, things between them and a new life. The fire blazed on, and the 11 travelers watched their past turn to ash. Every 11 years since, on the day of its founding, the people of The Kingdom On The Ocean Cliffs gathered by the outskirts of the forest, ignited towering bonfires, and burned the items that weighed them down with harmful memories. They called it, “The Burning Day”. The girl traced a finger along one of the flowering tree carvings that were etched into the box as she slipped into the gathering crowd. 11 heaping piles of chopped wood
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“Autumn Colors,” Photograph by Anonymous stood in a line along the forest’s edge and the girl took her place in front of one slightly to the right. Speeches were made and preparations were begun, but it all seemed to pass by the girl in a hazy blur. Her mind was fogged by the bustle of it all and one thought that she couldn’t seem to shake. She was here, she was finally here. With a chorus of striking flint and steel, orange, reds, and yellows ignited, sparks soared into the sky, and the girl was shot from the memories of her childhood. Silence filled the air as everyone listened to the crackle of the wood beneath the flames, before breaking into motion. The girl hesitated for a moment, the sound of her heartbeat echoing in her ears, before exhaling deeply and unlatching the small lock that hung from the ornate box. The girl flipped open the top and took out the single item that lay inside. She clutched the piece of parchment in her hand as she stared at the wavering flames, their orange glow casting across her face. The girl squeezed her hazel eyes shut, holding on to the last few moments before it all, the letter, the memories, the pain, were to go up in flames. It was strange how a single piece of parchment could hold such a grasp on a person, with the mere addition of ink and thought, it could become a celebration within itself, or invoke complete devastation. 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.
Dear Moon
650 Words Max
By Verovyva
By Blue Serendipity
Star light, star bright
The world is silent at 2AM, save for the relentless ticking.
I do not see many stars tonight But man in the moon, I do see you
A bass drum, it keeps me moving steadily. Frustration floods through me as the words
A drop of silver singing a silent tune
I had spent precious hours laboring over were deleted
They who watches over
My eyes scan over the lists and I wonder what I could
And has many names I look to you like you’re a clover
within a matter of seconds. afford to ignore. I scoff in disbelief as I find a catch-22.
And I, a moth drawn to a flame
Slowly, my head lowers down to the table.
Do you cry tears of meteors, of shooting stars
breath.
When you hear the wishes of people so far Wishes that you know will never be more And for the hearts will be forever tore
Beside me the ticking grows louder and I take a deep There was no time. No time to feel insecure. No time to doubt. With a determined resolve, I sit back up and continue on.
“Tick Tock Clock,” Manga by Aya Hatashima (Read from Right to Left)
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Thoughts From Your Friendly Neighborhood Gargoyle By Calliope
Midnight approaches As she sits on the counter Legs tucked together and head bowed Eyes on the words in her lap Mind on the music in her ears She is alone, for once. The sounds swirl around her a thousand moments of each day The demands, the jokes, the questions She can never escape There is always one more One more assignment. One more practice. One more phone call. One more chore to do. Only in these few moments In the secret of the midnight hour When she sneaks from her bed as even it cannot be silent When she sneaks from her room The room that holds so many reminders of so many deadlines That she can not bear to look at its blue walls For even a single second longer When she sneaks from that cage To the freedom of the solitude of the kitchen That is when she knows silence And silence, to her, is the only place that she can exist in peace In a few hours she will no longer be allowed to be alone She will be dragged back to work To school To practice To family To life. But for now, for these precious moments, She can finally breathe. 12
“Gargoyle Guardian,� Photograph by The Calico Cat
Running Late By Anonymous Stop running away, let me find a rare second, to catch up to you. My hands, they fumble. They hesitate unlike yours. Give me a minute. Uninterested, you continue to move fast, leaving me behind.
Clockshop By Vérité
The store is quiet that night. The man behind the counter hums, as usual, polishing a clock or two before his daily shift is up, and the clocks on the walls around them tick discordantly, a soft symphony of jumbled rhythms. Outside, the sidewalks are void and empty, and the sky twinkles with countless stars. A shadow crosses the street. The man doesn’t look up, intent on some crisscrossed wiring hidden within a vintage brass pocket watch, but the ticking begins to rise and fall in pitch. A cuckoo chimes loudly from somewhere in the back. A silhouette steps in front of the door, reaching for the handle and turning it as a jingle sounds within the shop. The man sets the pocket watch aside and looks up, finally. It’s a young girl, no older than nine or ten. In her arm, she carries a round, cheerful-looking, golden-trimmed clock of moderate size. The hands, a delicate silver, point to twelve-oh-two, and they move at a steady pace, adding to the endless sea of muted sound within the shop. “Hello,” says the man, one elbow on the counter, “how can I help you?” There’s a chime from somewhere in the back and the sky lightens a bit. The girl steps forwards and sets the clock on the counter with an unusual gentleness. She sniffles and wipes at her nose with her sleeve. “Mama says you help people when they have time troubles,” she says, looking up with a piercing gaze. The man blinks, taken aback. “Well, yes,” he says, turning her clock over to examine it, “I suppose I do. What seems to be the issue here?” “The clock is fine,” the girl says, “but I have a time trouble.” “A. . . time trouble? And what might that be, young lady?” “Sometimes time moves forward really fast.” She looks resolutely at the floor. “And I know you can make it go forward by being happy and stuff. But I messed up real’ bad today and I need to figure out a way to make it go back.” The man blinks, again. “Make it. . . go back?” She nods as seriously as she can muster. “Yeah. I yelled at Kristina today but I said a lotta things I didn’t mean, mister. And I didn’t get a chance to say sorry. She’s gotta be real’ sad right now and I have to fix it, but she’s leaving for New York tomorrow and I won’t see her for weeks.” She steps forward, eyes pleading. “I know I can make time go forward so there’s gotta be a way I can make it go
back. I even brought our best clock, see?” “Ah,” the man says, pulling himself together somewhat. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, little one.” “What do you mean?” “You see, clocks. . . they only measure the time. Time keeps going on its own, no matter what the clocks say. And it always goes forward. Never backward.” “But. . . what do I do?” “The past,” the man says, “can’t be changed. You can learn from it, and decide what to do better, but you can’t go back and redo it. That’s not what the clocks are for. But what you can do--” and he leans down to look her in the eyes, “--is apologize to Kristina. Tell her you didn’t mean it. And if you don’t manage to catch her tomorrow, then write her a letter. She might still be upset, but eventually you two will move past it.” The girl sniffles a bit, again, and chews her lip thoughtfully. “You’re sure?” “Absolutely sure.” There’s a pause. “Well,” the girl says eventually. “alright then.” She nods resolutely. “I’ll do it.” She snatches the clock back and heads for the door. “Thanks. See you around, mister!” He lifts a hand in a hesitant wave, and the girl shoots him a grin before disappearing into the night. A wind flutters a bit behind her, and some of the clocks tick a bit faster, a bit more energetically. Her shadow disappears around the corner and the shop seems to let out a breath of its own. The store is quiet once more. “Lighting,” Illustration by Cupid
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The Room of Clocks By yxa
In a small corner of the world, somewhere deep underground, there is a tiny room. Within this room it was nearly bare, nothing was on the floor. It was nearly bare, all the walls were coated in clocks. Everyone older than 10 in the world, knew of this room. Every citizen would sit in a room in their school and watch a presentation on what this room was following their tenth birthday. It was typically taken very seriously even if the content of the room wasn’t inherently bad. The parents didn’t have a say if the children learned the contents of the room, it was mandated by the Committee of Countries United, which had been established after the devastating war of 3048 in which it was nuclear warfare and only the remaining ten countries survived and took over all the land of the destroyed and desolated countries. There were speeches to give and videos to watch that told the history that they had not previously learned. It was also mandated that no one would know the full history until they were deemed old enough by the Committee. There were teachers who trained for weeks to use the right wording to tell these children the delicate news. These presentations always seemed more harmful than helpful to Harold. Harold had one of the most important jobs in the world and that is no understatement he was given the job of looking after the Clock Room. Every day he would walk in to see if any of the clocks had moved or stopped and quickly recorded the finding. Each clock was very important, but no one knew how until they stopped. The clocks were symbols of a big event in the universe, the birth of a new world leader, or destroyer. The countdown of a tsunami about to occur, before the water breaks the landfall. The seconds before someone is tested positive for a new deadly virus. On his daily rounds around the same cramped room, he saw the same clocks over and over again he had some clocks which he knew stopped and had been enabled for what event they correlated with, the first positive of COVID-19, the birth of Hitler, the bombing of Hiroshima, the birth of Mother Teresa, the birth of Annie, the creation of Halloween, and the inauguration of Trump. All sorts of important moments of history marked down in these clocks in the messy handwriting of the people who watched over the clocks before Harold. 14
He did, however, like one clock, in particular, it was behind in between much bigger and fancier clocks, they were brighter and commanded attention, but the small clock hidden under the frames of the others was a rusty old beat up one that had stopped though no tape marked what big event the rust old thing correlated to. It was his favorite because it could often be overseen and overlooked but there was no doubt in his mind that it was the most intriguing: the records of all the clocks that had stopped went back so far in history, they knew everyone that had stopped but the smaller one. He ran his wrinkly old hand through his hair as he opened the door to step out, exhaling a long and uneven breath. His job wasn’t hard, just difficult. He had so much pressure to mark these clocks so all of society could function properly. As his chunky boot passed the threshold of the door, he heard a single loud tick and his eyes had instantly shifted to the smallest clock which always read 5:12. The minute hand had shifted to read 5:13, his first thought was to run towards it, but before his shoe could cross the threshold again, the world went white. “Moon with Hands,” Photograph by The Listener
Adelaide
By Blue Serendipity Eggs… butter… milk… bread… I groaned and shut the refrigerator loudly. Of course I was completely out of food at a time like this. I had completely forgotten about stocking up on food for the upcoming blizzard until it had hit. Grumbling under my breath, I grabbed my thickest winter coat and made my way towards the door. The world outside was a blur of white as snow fell quickly and heavily. Luckily, I lived only a few minute’s walk away from the closest grocery store. It was a little strange how there wasn’t anyone else outside. Even though there was an ongoing blizzard there was usually still at least one person trying to get somewhere. Then again, I suppose that one person might’ve been me this time. When I reached the grocery store, I bathed in the blast of heating that hit me the moment I walked through the doors. Snow was piling up rapidly outside, so I quickly grabbed a basket and made my way down the first aisle. All I could think about while I searched for the things I needed was how I really needed to finish the slideshow by midnight. It wasn’t until I reached the register that I realized something was off. There was no one in the store. Every register was on, yet there were no cashiers. The customer service desk was empty, and so was the rest of the store. No one else was walking around
doing last-minute grocery shopping. Goosebumps rose all over my body and I had a churning feeling in my stomach. I needed to leave as quickly as I could. Since I still needed groceries, I speed-walked over to the customer service desk and searched for paper and a pencil. It wasn’t too difficult to find; there was a pad of paper by the phone with a cup of random writing utensils. When I reached for a purple pen, something— no, someone caught my eye. On the floor behind the customer service desk, was a little navy blue car seat carrying a tiny infant girl. She was sleeping soundly with a purple pacifier in her mouth and a fluffy white blanket tightly wrapped around her. I stared at her in bewilderment before scanning the store for the baby’s parents. “Hello?” I called out. There was no response. “Is there anyone in here?” There was no response. After a few more moments of waiting I searched through my pockets for my phone. Nothing. I must’ve left it at home. After staring at the little call chart next to the customer service phone, I figured out how to make a call to 911. Yet when I tried to make a call, it never rang. “Oh, you’re kidding me,” I said disbelievingly under my breath. The last thing I wanted to do was stay in the store all alone during a blizzard, but there was no way I would leave the baby there. A deep pang of moral wrongness gnawed at me as I tied my bags of groceries on the handle of the car seat. This wasn’t kidnapping was
“Halloween Decorations,” Photograph By The Calico Cat
it? After all, she had been left there in the middle of a blizzard and I was trying to make sure she didn’t freeze to death. Even though my intentions were good I still felt uneasy carrying her out of the store. Outside, the blizzard had grown even stronger. With every step a sheet of white slammed into me. The weight of the baby and groceries made wading through the snow even harder. By the time I reached my house, I was sure my grocery bags were filled with more snow than actual food. Luckily the car seat had a black canopy to keep any snow from getting inside the car seat. When I pushed the canopy back, my heart nearly jumped out of my chest. A pair of bright green eyes peered up at me and the purple pacifier fell out of her mouth. Loud high-pitched wails pierced my ears and I quickly put the pacifier back into her mouth. “Shhh,” I urged frantically. Once she stopped crying I ran to my room and grabbed my phone. Thankfully 911 actually picked up this time. “911, where is your emergency?” asked the emergency dispatcher.
“Hi, uh, 14023 Pearston Street, Laurel Alaska,” I answered anxiously. The baby watched me walk around my living room and began moving in the seat. I wondered if she wanted to get out. “What’s going on?” “I found a baby abandoned at this grocery store, Fred Meyer, a few minutes from my house. There was no one in the store and I left my phone at home so I brought her to my house.” “Alright ma’am, can you please tell me your name and your phone number?” “Irene Cao. I-R-E-N-E C-A-O. My phone number’s 907-326-5810.” “Thank you, can you describe the baby?” “Uh, she’s got green eyes, brown hair, olive skin, and she’s I guess a year old?” I said with uncertainty. It was really hard to tell how old any child was. They all just looked like small little helpless humans. “Ok, we have not received any missing children calls about a girl matching your description, so we will have Continued on Next Page
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Child Protective Services call you alright? They’ll call you in the next ten minutes.” “Ok, thank you,” I said before the dispatcher hung up. That left me alone with the baby for ten minutes. I had no idea how to take care of kids. As the only child with no relatives, I had never interacted with children, much less babies. I didn’t even like kids. The baby dropped her pacifier again and began crying. “Shhh.” I picked up the pacifier and put it in her mouth but she only spit it out and continued crying. “Why are you crying? Why don’t you want your pacifier? Shhh. Stop crying!” The baby only continued to cry, her little face scrunching up and turning strawberry red. I ran a hand through my hair in bewilderment as I tried to think of all the reasons why a baby would cry. Just before I went to try Google, the front door opened and my wife whirled in. “The amount of snow outside is insa—” Laura froze and stared at the scene in front of her. In the middle of the living room was the baby carrier while I stood in front of it soaked from the melted snow and holding a purple pacifier. “Why’s there a baby here?” “I found her at Fred Meyer all by herself—” “You kidnapped her?!” “No!” I exclaimed. “There was no one else in the store. There weren’t even cashiers or anything. I couldn’t just leave her there!” “Well what’re we going to do with her now?” Laura asked. She walked over to 16
get a better look at the crying baby. “I called the police and they said CPS was going to contact me soon,” I said wearily. The crying was already getting on my nerves. “Awh, she’s so cute,” cooed Laura. She unbuckled the baby from the car seat and scooped the tiny thing in her arms. “I think she might be hungry. Did you buy any cereal and milk while you were there?” “Yeah, but is she old enough to eat cereal?” I asked skeptically. Laura paused and examined the girl closely. I knew Laura had more experience with kids than I did, especially since she had three younger siblings and many more younger cousins. “I’d think so? She’s wearing shoes, so I think she can walk a bit too,” said Laura. She bent down and held the baby so her little feet would be touching the ground. When Laura let go, the baby continued to stand and even took a wobbly step forward. “Yeah she should be old enough to eat cereal.” The moment I gave the baby a plastic bowl of Cheerios she stopped crying and began grabbing at the pieces of cereal with her fingers, completely ignoring the spoon I gave her. Laura thought the girl was the most precious thing in the world, but she kinda just looked like a messy babbling small human instead. When my phone rang, I was more than happy to answer. “Hello?” I asked. “Hello, this is Child Protective Services. Are you Irene Cao?” asked the responder.
“Yes I am. I found a baby all alone in the grocery store.” “Was there anyone else in the store?” “No.” “Is the baby currently in a safe location and seems to be uninjured?” “Yes, I brought her to my house and she’s eating Cheerios right now.” “Ok, from the police report we’ve been given, you’ve described the baby as female, about the age of one, olive skin, brown hair, and green eyes, correct?” “Yes.” “Is there any identification on her?” I shook out the white blanket and checked the pockets of the car seat before answering. “No.” “Ok, we have not received any missing children reports matching that description of her, but we are checking with Canada to see if they’ve received any reports. Normally, we would go and bring the child into
our custody, but we’re unable to reach your location due to the snow storm. Are you able to care for the baby until the roads are cleared?” I froze and stared at Laura. I was absolutely not able to care for a tiny human, but Laura was more than capable and more than willing. The only issue was that I despise children. Especially ones who couldn’t even babble out a word to let me know what they wanted. “Uh, my wife is good with kids,” I said slowly. “We can take care of her for a few days. Until the storm is over.” “Good, we’ll check in with you periodically until we can safely reach you. Please send us a photo of the child so we can search for her faster. Give us a call if you need any assistance.” “Ok thank you,” I said. They hung up and I turned to look at Laura with a reluctant expression. “Well. I guess we’re going to be moms for a few days.”
“Among Us,” Illustration by Cupid