Reverie Volume Eight Two Tho usand and Sixteen
The Logistics of Drowning By Samuel Rhee
He simply stood at the door
Unaware of what lay on the other side But content in knowing That there were things he could not know. A simple breath he could manage once more, A memory lost long before. The roaring sound of water had called him to action And thrashing had been his response. Then, at once it was still, as was he. Was it enough to lay there in the sea Staring up at the sky? He seemed to be forgetting something, But he did not care. There was peace in this place, aye, There was peace here. And then the peace spoke to him and stirred him And he rose up And he remembered all that was And all that should have been. The smell of tears on a mother’s face Caused him to weep as well. Does she not know the order of things? He cried out And no one heard. In reality, she knew all too well How the waves receded and the winds swelled And swept away all the meaninglessness in its path And nothing remained, all was void
The Life-Changing Hotdog
When I got home I took Cooper’s leash off, and gave him a bone to gnaw on. Then I sat down at the By Grace Blackmon kitchen counter and opened the sack… It was empty. I gasped and looked accusingly at ne day I was walking my dog Cooper. “Did you eat my hotCooper, and my life changed fordog?” He shook his head and I ever… remembered he hadn’t even come “Yum…hot dogs,” I said, licking my near the gold bag at all. lips. The new, seemingly “magic” Then the bag started to shake, hotdog stand had come to my street. and I yelped and dropped it on All of the reviews said the “Gethe ground. Cooper hid his face nie in a Bottle” hotdog stand was “simply magical”. So, I decided to try it. I went up to the stand and everywhere, and blue smoke said excitedly, “One hotdog, please!” burst out of the screaming bag. The man turned around and gave It formed a humanlike shape, and me a golden bag. “One hotdog!” he glowing eyes abruptly appeared screamed. I handed him the money on his face. He roared, and an and walked away. item appeared on his head. It was Even though my mouth was watera mighty, beautiful…sombrero? ing like Old Faithful, I probably The genie in the sombrero needed to go home. So I turned yawned and cracked his neck, the around to thank the man…but he was gone. He stretched, picked up the bag, I shrugged and turned to walk away, set it on the table, and patted but Cooper wouldn’t budge. Cooper on the head. “C’mon boy!” I mumbled, tugging “Sup,” he said loudly. His voice on his leash. But he just stared at the was raspy and crazy, not smooth and melodious, like you would hard enough to where he turned reexpect from a genie. “I am the luctantly and we both set off toward Genie of the Hotdog, and I am home, both of us unaware of the to grant you one wish”. “Hold up,” I said doubtfully. the gold bag gleaming.
O
Haunted
By Caroline Martin A chilly breeze, and a stir of fallen leaves carries the scent of spice, kindling, and sweet maple across the damp earth. As the sun falls asleep, it succumbs to the shadows of night, and darkens the town square. Behind the church steeple, and past the misty quarry, fog rises amidst the sunken tombstones. The breeze that stirred the crisp fallen leaves presence. weeping willows, calling upon the spirits to awaken once again, and lift the veil between the living and dead. Apart from the distant giggles of trick-or-treaters, all is eerily still, and deafeningly silent ...
until the peace subsides to the sound of whistling wind and howling spirits. As the gravestones crumble and the ground shakes, a hand, white and smooth as porcelain, emerges from a headstone’s overgrown patch of black roses. The Woman in White, followed by the spirits of the Founder’s Council, has not a minute to wait. The apparitions follow her lead as they search for her love long lost, who died long and far away ago but did not return to her resting place. She is haunted, haunted by his memory. And the town, ignorant of her misery, mistook her unrest for ill intent. A ghost haunted by memories, a town haunted by the unknown. And on a night as cryptic as Halloween, we realize, we are all haunted.
Lily Warren
Reverie Volume Eight Two Tho usand and Sixteen