New Literati Fall 2019 Web Issue by New Literati

New Literati Fall 2019

Copyright © St. Edward’s University ALL RIGHTS RESERVED New Literati is an annual publication of St. Edward’s University. The views expressed in this journal are those of the individual authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of the editors, staff, or the university. St. Edward’s University 3001 South Congress Avenue Austin, Texas 78704 Cover art by Ari Reyes Page design by Melinda Hurtado, Sofie Canestaro, and Miki Nguyen

Table of Contents Study: Poems Enhance Nostalgia

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Ace Boggess

there is nothing here for you

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Ari Reyes

The Sun Helps Flowers Come To Life

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Calista Robledo

maybe i like you

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Your favorite shirt

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Sofie Canestaro Andrea Angeli Gonzales

Jagged

11 21

Josetheil Gepulle

Thalita

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Josetheil Gepulle

Cherry Pie

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Sofie Canestaro

Self Portrait

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Jeff Stirling

Magic 8

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Jeff Stirling

18 19 20

Missing

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Harper Brymer

Friends

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Ace Boggess

Remember Me

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Ace Boggess

Texas State Capitol 2

23 24

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Quinn Zukowski

We die, we live again

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Ari Reyes

Infected Perfection Sofie Canestaro

Cherie

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Andrea Angeli Gonzales

Beethoven

Kathie Rojas

Strawberry Jam

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Kathie Rojas

Jean and the Wolf Kathie Rojas

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The Death of Stacy Fitzherbert Rebecca Harville

maybe we have the same heart Josetheil Gepulle

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Night Ride

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Harper Brymer

The Plight of a Mercenary

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Jeff Stirling

The State Capitol 1 Andrea Angeli Gonzales

Control

Harper Brymer

you belong to me

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Ari Reyes

Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll Be Back Late Izzy Smith

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Digital Landscape Jeff Stirling

Rythm

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Jeff Stirling

Surviving While Drowning

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Alana Auber

Hamilton Pool Preserve

Andrea Angeli Gonzales

Study: Poems Enhance Nostalgia Ace Boggess I’m forced at gunpoint to remember sweet vanilla taste of cupcakes from the local pastry shop, scents of dried-out pines in my living room at Christmastime, the slippery feel of my first kiss & each thereafter. I’ll scan a few lines of verse from an author unknown to me & suddenly I’m watching home movies (mine, not hers). I see my past as though she painted it in slightly faded colors. There’s my childhood kitten, black as ink, sleeping on my father’s naked gut, there the theater where I stood in line for Star Wars, there the first LP I owned by Queen. The poet continues reciting her dissertation on my life as though she knows me, ran a hand through my hair back when it was baby-blond. I turn the page, hoping to learn about her. Her every word enters me in a glass of dirty-yellow water, & a wall of sweets six feet thick it will take me months to eat my way through to freedom.

there is nothing here for you Ari Reyes 10

The Sun Helps Flowers Come to Life Calista Robledo Flowers are always harmed. Once they bloom, they are gifted with grace, poise, and beauty. With these gifts, the world thinks they can tamper with their way of life because they are picked. Flowers are picked from the ground and taken from their garden. Sometimes they are trimmed, or sprayed, or dyed, or drained. They are then placed, usually in a vase with strangers from all parts of the garden. The flowers are given food and water, but lack sunlight. After a week or so, the color fades. Little by little the petals become heavy. These poor flowers need sunlight to survive. The Sun helps the flowers come to life. The Sun is with the flowers their entire life, and to be taken away so abruptly! It causes them to wilt. Their petals begin to weigh more and more, and their color becomes duller and duller. They are no longer beautiful. A single flower has nothing else to offer. Soon the Flower is returned home, and slowly comes back to life. With the help of the Sun and the familiarity of the garden, they overcome the strife of life inside. But fear still resides within their now restless heart. The Flower does not want to be deprived of the sun. Again. At first, they managed to avoid the hands that sought them out, for they feel safe at home. But after a sudden storm, where the sun was gone, a hand snatched the Flower from their garden. The Flower was so afraid of what could happen this time. They were afraid of feeling alone again. However, there was a shift in the hands that picked them. The hands were gentler. Calmer. The Flower was not trimmed, or sprayed, or dyed, or drained. They were given water, food, and a place near the sun. At first the Flower could not believe all of the wonderful things that happened, but they slowly became accustomed to it. The Flower was happy. The Flower remained beautiful. It took time, but things were good. At last, the Flower found a perfect fit. They were picked and given everything needed to survive and live a happy life.

maybe i like you Josetheil Gepulle 12

Cherry Pie Josetheil Gepulle A male college student named JOHN stands at center stage, behind a counter. On the counter is an array of baking ingredients and utensils. Behind him, an oven or at the very least, something oven-ish in nature. JOHN is currently smashing a bunch of cherries in a bowl. JOHN: Is it supposed to take this long? It’s kinda lumpy. I’m pretty sure that’s a good thing…

[Looks Up, Pauses with spoon in hand]

Oh! You’re here already? Sorry for calling you over this late. You’re the first person I thought of. And the least busiest. Anyway, you’re good at the whole…dealing--with-emotions thing. I think. Or you at least know what girls want? That makes sense... wait, how’d you know I was going to ask about Carmen? Is it THAT obvious?…. okay, okay, I guess it’s kinda obvious with my whole pie setup going on…Yes, I’m baking a pie, don’t look so surprised! I’m baking two, actually. There’s one already in the oven, and I figured a second one wouldn’t hurt. I’m kinda having trouble getting the flavoring right...wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. We’re talking about Carmen. Not pie. Pie is related to this whole thing, but let me start with Carmen. [Puts spoon down] We went on a date last…Friday. Watched some horror movie, don’t really remember what it was about. Super gory though, and I think I jumped way more than she did. She gets all…excited about ‘em? Didn’t peg her as the horror type, but she surprises me everyday. [Laughs] We went out to eat afterwards, and I wanted to surprise her with some dessert, so I ordered some apple pie. But she just laughed and said she didn’t really like apple. I mean, she still ate it, but she fed half of it to me. Just remind me to never get apple again….no, I’m not making an apple pie. It’s cherry. Her favorite is cherry. I know this because she told me multiple times and I uh…kept forgetting? The first time, I got her pecan. The second, coconut creme...she really didn’t like

that one, by the way. And now, apple! I don’t know why I keep forgetting! Plus, it makes way more sense that she’s a cherry person. Apple pie is more for those... homely types. Y’know what I’m talking about? Like the sweet, All-American girl next door kind of type. Kinda quiet. It’s not a bad thing. Apple’s my favorite too. Especially with ice cream...but cherry! Cherry is just more…energetic. For people who are full of personality. Makes sense, right? Cherries are more tart and have a kick to em, so people who like cherry must be the same way. Or somewhat the same. It made sense in my head...maybe I’m looking too much into things. Yeah, yeah, I know it’s just pie...But that’s why it’s so important! It’s pie! [Waves arms around] It’s...one of the few things I know about her.

[Sighs, picks back up the bowl. Starts to mix it around again.]

I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I don’t…know much ’bout her at all. I mean, that’s why we go on dates. But she’s...kinda quiet? I dunno, she doesn’t seem THAT shy when she’s around you. And she sometimes makes these snarky comebacks. So I know there’s more to her…well, okay, I do know some things. We did have a date and we walked to the park...she liked to the pet the dogs…especially this one husky...and we just had a picnic. We talked, and I brought her flowers too, some daisies. She called it old-fashioned, but I don’t think she hated it? She seems like she’s into that type of stuff. After all, she wears that sun hat everywhere. It’s cute…but I don’t think that’s a thing girls these days wear. Or do they? Do you know anyone like that? It sounds like something a…refined person wears, if that makes sense. It’s kinda why I thought apple would be her favorite. Because it’s a classic. Anyway, we did go over all that basic get-to-know-you stuff. Y’know, like majors and hobbies and whatnot. I know she’s a math major. Makes sense. She has all the skills for it.

[Shrugs, some of the mixture spills out]

Numbers don’t make much sense to me, so I don’t really get what she talked about, but Carmen told me she liked to count. Says it calms her down. Wish I could do that. All I can do is draw. She also said something about, uh, some K-Pop group? Which, I dunno, I know they’re celebs and all, but I really can’t compete with that. Who knows what I’d have to do to look like them? I have the Asian part down at least. I mean, I’m not exactly Korean, but it’s, uh, close enough…hey, do you think she likes the athletic type then?

[Lifts spoon out, pointing it at the audience]

I did track in high school, that counts, right? I don’t know, man, I only learned those two things during the date. I told her a lot about me, but I didn’t think she’d be so secretive?…yeah, I know some people are just like that, but here’s the thing. I think…I might’ve rushed into things. It’s not like we were friends. I asked her out without knowing anything about her. And it was Valentine’s day, so I thought, why not? I knew she was really pretty. And everyone thinks she’s pretty! It’s like she has some sort of weird charm ’bout her. But now I’ve spent more time around her and I dunno, I don’t want to mess things up. I really am glad I can make her smile and all because…she’s just even more beautiful while laughing. And see, this is where the pie comes in! Because I know she likes pie. Like after the whole coconut incident, she brought over some cherry pie and let me have a bite. She ate some herself and she was just! So happy! Her face instantly lit up! It only lasted a few seconds since, uh, I think she baked it herself because she suddenly started stammering and apologizing about a wrong pie? I…didn’t really get it, but it was really good! It had this really subtle aftertaste…kinda salty, yet still sweet? And I…really want to capture that smile all over again. It’s just hard because she must’ve used some...secret family recipe or whatever because no matter how much salt I put in the filling, I can’t get it to work! I don’t even know if you can put salt with cherries! I’m not…a baker at all, but I want to make her happy. I wish I could like...draw smiles better or something. I’d draw her if I could…what? Draw something for her? I mean, I guess. I could draw…huskies? I am more confident with drawing but…I guess that’s it. Confidence. This is where you say something really corny, right? Well, yeah, I guess if she keeps agreeing to dates I’m not doing…everything wrong. It’s just that…I don’t know I thought guys, or even other girls, would be lining up to date her but…I think they’re too scared to approach her? It’s like…being scared of taking the last piece of pie. It sounds dumb, I know, but that’s like a really precious thing! You assume someone else is gonna take it…Okay, okay, maybe using food metaphors when I’m talking about a girl isn’t the best idea ever, but you get my point. Out of everyone who’s brave enough to approach her, it’s me! Why me out of all people? I…think it’s dumb how people won’t approach her. I can’t imagine ever being scared of her…It’s not like she’s gonna, I don’t know, eat me. You can call me stupid later if this backfires, but…she’s special. And I like her a lot. I would hate to mess things up…so I’ll try to be confident. And patient. I don’t really know if I’m any of those things, but I can at least try. And trying is good enough. I hope. Uh, I’m really sorry for taking up your time…but I have a plan now. I’ll draw and finish these pies. I can do this. [An alarm starts going off. John, startled, drops the bowl and spoon he was holding. He runs to the oven and takes out a completely burnt pie] …she wouldn’t mind if I just bought one, right?

Your Favorite Shirt Sofie Canestaro Your favorite shirt It’s funny to think about How there was a time when your favorite shirt, The one with a little hole at the bottom and A mark on its sleeve, Used to be hanging on a rack at the store Crammed next to its identical siblings and Smelling like a stranger You plucked it out from its hiding spot And held it an arms length Away from you Considering if you should take it with you Or not Not knowing that you would cry Under your covers alone in it or Get complimented by your crush in it or Sit on the roof of a parking garage And watch the city light up in it And It’s funny to think about How there was a time when your favorite human, The one with the calloused hands That you wrote little poems about And studied the way they think, Used to be a stranger The kind you sit next to and forget to notice their face Or make polite small talk with Because you don’t Tell your deepest bluest secrets or Feel their hair through your fingers or Fall asleep in the early morning with people Who are sitting an arm’s length Away from you Until you hold them in the nook Of your elbow long enough To where they stop smelling like Strangers

Thalita Andrea Angeli Gonzales

Jagged Sofie Canestaro His atmosphere has jagged edges Stress and guilt and mild self loathing In the way he holds his smile I trace my thumb Along one of his edges Expecting a prick in my finger But the frayed corners Of my breath get caught As I realize that all the jagged edges And all the cracks in his voice Fit perfectly in the indents of my hands

Self Portrait Jeff Stirling 19

Magic 8 Jeff Stirling 20

Missing Harper Brymer A harpoon through me - an iron rod The hole in my chest Unfilled with love except for the temporary infatuation of Strangers, my face a device to distract from what I lack Fundamentally

Friends Ace Boggess One does cartwheels in the rain wearing a short black dress & nothing under. While I’m in the prison I’ve made for myself, she sends a single tarot card: The Blank. One wears a coonskin hat & puffs fat cigars, not caring if others mock or laugh, not caring about not caring. One, first time I see her, skips through the smokegray haze in Calamity Café like she’s holding her lover’s hand on a sunny afternoon— I must speak to her & learn about happiness. One has perfect pitch & mimics voices, accepting tests as if my private drinking game: Brando singing a tune by KISS, Kermit & Darth Vader as candidates debating. One owned a nightclub, the best black-lit ShangriLa in town. He’s dead now, which erases fantasies of coolness for the rest of us, not glittery or bedazzling as life goes on, or not. They are like a concert where the band doesn’t always play my favorite songs but plays enough.

Remember Me Ace Boggess I like to think I’ve made an impression with more than knives, that I’ve spoken meaning like a philosopher measuring angles of joy or another renowned psychiatrist to the stars. I introduce myself, shake hands. I tell a joke & then move on. Do they remember me—those strangers who’ve heard me talk? Those, stranger still, who’ve touched my face with their fingertips? I’ve offered enough apologies. Perhaps my friends remember those. I suspect I’m a happy caricature in their subconscious, coming back in dreams where together we sit on swings at the riverfront, buy ourselves dope in back at a local bar, play guitars minus rhythm, sing a song off key. I’m in & out of their lives like the beach ball at a pool party— everyone has been invited, though not a soul around me ever swims.

Texas State Capitol 2 Andrea Angeli Gonzales 24

Beethoven Quinn Zukowski i imagine my death to be something out of a movie. i’d pour myself a scotch; almost too expensive to drink. then, i would have too much of it, call my wife so she could ignore me one last time, leave a letter to my dog for being good to me, and with no other words to give, walk into my dining room. being a man of structure and plan, i would have paid the pianist in advance to keep playing no matter what he sees; being a man of taste and authenticity, my pianist is deaf. well, in one ear at least. i refer to him as Beethoven, he calls me by my name, and if anyone approached him that wasn’t me, he would sign. it was part of the deal. it was also part of the magic, seeing guests’ faces when they occupied my house for dinner. “he really can’t hear the things he plays? — quite the shame.” they had more in common than they realized, even with one more working ear. i was the pianist at my own parties. there, but off in the distance somehow. and, no matter what i said or how i looked, none of it seemed to matter. everyday god would wind up the trees, the ocean, the sun, the smiles on these plastic people, and send them after me. they all performed a simple function. the person that has no one, almost as painful as the person with everyone. they tell you they care, but never stop to listen. time makes a sinner out of all us. at the end of the day, you will only hear the rumble of the stomach closest to you. i am quick to give, they are quick to take. this has made me tired of being. so, they found me the next day with a bullet burrowed in my head, a cold body floating in a puddle. i must add, the first scream was too good for it all. one might even say it was practiced. but hey, we wanted a movie. i could hear everything from down there, as i stood in line waiting to get into heaven. the paperwork for suicide was long and tricky. “why, why why?” “where did it all go wrong?” the detectives, the shrinks, the wife, the friends, the help, they all asked. my dog didn’t shed a tear, and the only one who had anything to say was sworn to secrecy. it was the pianist after all, who watched me on numerous accounts cry myself to sleep on the dining table, drink myself into a rage, and hack away on this damn typewriter. it was the pianist who watched me fiddle with golden bullets when the spirits ran low, both drink and heart. the only thing that kept me as long as it did was the sound of that piano. it was my favorite thing, knowing that inside all this chaos something lovely could exist. music. i’d dance around the room with numbed senses, in a stained wet shirt, screaming, “i am the music. i am the music,” and i wasn’t wrong. about

many things, yes. about this, never. i even have the proof. somewhere and forever, a folder with a picture of a room full of people exists. in that room rests a dead body, and a pianist in the background playing music. all their eyes are on the body, and i am there. i always was, i promise you this. you just couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t see it, or never cared to look. we are all Beethovenâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; a little deaf, a little mute, a little blind.

we live, we die, we live again Ari Reyes 27

Infected Perfection Sofie Canestaro I have chapped lips from a quick lie and a fake laugh And there’s a scab on my elbow I keep picking that I got from being jealous There’s burns on my forearms from when I compressed someone’s spirit out of carelessness There’s scars on my throat from when I was too loud, collecting every wrong word And there’s bruises on the backs of my eyelids from when I was too shy to find any words at all But I think what hurts the most is the gash across my sternum that keeps opening up whenever they said I was perfect

Cherie Kathie Rojas My brain rumbles at night craving food for thought might it hold something substantial and sunny, light and creamy like my darling sweetie, oh he lies so near me yet my brain’s my only company. Might he hold me or my mind in some substantial, sunny way and bring me out of the dark corners of my cherry pit brain sweet dark cherries blackened and bathed in wine, swallowed just in time, before my darling sees the stains on my birdbrained mind and the darkness that it’s in. Might he not know that I let the burglars in and let our house catch fire. If only he knew that they and my mind held me down by wire--they bit down--bleeding cherries drain on my skin. Oh might he not feel the pool of sweet blood sap that extracts and runs thin ruins the sheets and the sheepskin blankets, the low spirit burglars only taunt and grin, melancholic whispers dribble down their chins, the burglar phantoms’ wire bit down like spiders on my skin, tomorrow he won’t recognize the sadness that’s been wedged between my limbs, might he not know what the burglars and my mind broke-in.

Strawberry Jam Kathie Rojas My hands slip a slight tremor, As I trace the slivers of silver that line your jaw. Licked by solvent with glossy eyes for you forever, My head is in a jar somewhere, preserved, only slightly raw. As I trace the slivers of silver that line your jaw, I think of all your body, whole, and the bodies by the door. My head is in a jar somewhere, preserved, only slightly raw. In your museum of bodies and romantic hides, we’ll be your decor. I think of all your body, whole, and the bodies by the door. You’ve kissed my skin with a confectionous death. In your museum of bodies and romantic hides, we’ll be your decor. Your snares are beds of flowers, only baby’s breath. You’ve kissed my skin with a confectionous death. I slipped into a honeyed drowse in your bed and tasted my forever. Your snares are beds of flowers, only baby’s breath. Tomorrow, you’ll join the jam jars and be kept like treasure. My hands only slip a slight tremor.

Jean and the Wolf Kathie Rojas I’m a suburban girl smoking green to keep the glide glowing the fire flowing. You kissed me in Houston, held me for my sensitivity, my tagged ears perched for you, hearing for you. “He’s a friend of mine.” “She’s a friend of mine.” I met you that way in the vibrant spring, the bonnets bounced down the hills, bright, and bolder. With a tense jaw, one of a right-winged politician, you held me down with such aggression, reflective of your past nature they said, the girls said, you were here and there, entered through buildings here and there, occupying beds of others like a long lost lover, but you were mine, only mine--until you broke the 21st seal, the age of alpha possessed you, downing beer, they howled for you in the bars. You called me your sweet mutton-button, flesh so soft, skin of a ripened babe--my ribs even honeyed down couldn’t hold your hunger so you couldn’t hover on a hunt. Our friend’s your loyal dog now, he fawns the plain sheep away from you, a copulation cop for the night chase, the love-lamb quietus is so overwhelming with the growth of a pack. They say you hated some girl for some odd, off-center sex encounter. Her friends say you took advantage of her. I’ve hated her until this point. You wolves go for your miniscule hunts, seek the underage glow of velvet, drunk introduction. The sheep flock to you, some silence or love/death they ache, to hold the alpha of the pack, only to be his third or thirteenth bate.

The Death of Stacy Fitzherbert Rebecca Harville Her fingernails caked in dirt. Her lungs burned from the inside-out—making her crave for something she no longer can have. Her neck bruised under the strings weight. Her back flexed at the pressure his boot brought. Her need to stay alive was palatable; he gained the needy reassurance he planted—this would be the last stop on the road to death: a beginning. He killed her, underwear stuffed in her mouth. He had strangled her with a noose—no,a garrote twisting tighter until her throat crushed. He must’ve known her, maybe not. He had to’ve felt sorry for her, a jogger and her dog found her in a shallow grave. He had to have assumed he would get away with it; the detective knew her life meant nothing to the killer—she was what all other girls were: another drum beat. The detective took a long drag once he saw her. The look on the detective’s face was what she hoped was caring—most likely it was one of a sluggishly tired man. The sight was horrific, but one her dead self could tell the detective’s seen all the same. The moment the detective stubbed his cigarette near her still body all she wanted was to pick herself up and slap him. The want to find the monster had to be faintly there for him; however, he would never find out what happened to ‘Jane Doe’—her case eventually holds the label what the detective’s heart would turn into after many years of it going unsolved: cold.

maybe we have the same heart Josetheil Gepulle 33

Night Ride Harper Brymer

The Spirit of the night Compels us forward Houses aglow with soft orange light, Keeping keeping the monsters away throughout the night Allowing only the foolish children to see their beauty

The Spirit of the night posses our very Souls, we are wolves on the run, the run from no one (but ourselves) the wind so divine, enough to cause a slight pause of time as the moon says hell and we say Goodbye.

The Plight of a Mercenary Jeff Stirling The bright sun slowly peeked out of a light, fuzzy cloud over the vast ocean. A small bird with milky-colored feathers spread its wings, gliding freely through the crisp air, just above the salty waters. After hitting a breeze, the majestic creature swooped towards the sky. A gunshot echoed across the undulating sea. The last sound to leave the bird was a croak. Now stained red on one wing, it quickly spiraled down. Within seconds, all that remained was a splotch of crimson in the boundless azure, which gained a darker tint as a large, wooden ship overcast. “Prepare the cannons! Draw yer weapons, mateys! Don’t let them stowaways escape with the booty!” The captain shouted while the two rogues were already way ahead, one of them carrying a large chest in his arm while the other holding a half-naked sex slave. “And be sure to get our treasure as well!” The one carrying the treasure chest was Ryder, the headstrong leader of the two. He was about the average height for a teenage boy, but had a little more bulk. As such, he was the brawny warrior, wielding a wide, pitch-black broadsword on his back. And if that wasn’t enough weight on his shoulders, he also lugged around a backpack filled to the brim with utilities and all their findings in a slapdash, near-overflowing mess. Then there was Damon, the loyal sidekick. He was a good deal more scrawny, yet had the golden complexion and lean build of a young, loyal, wide-eyed apprentice. To match, he had long, thin black hair and bangs that hung over his face, nearly covering one of his big, blue eyes. He was only equipped with a bow and a relatively large quiver, which funnily enough only held a small handful of arrows. But of course, he couldn’t use it at the time, considering the load he had to carry. The unwelcomed guests ducked behind a pile of cargo, moments from confrontation. And after gently placing the tied-up dame down in front of them, Damon quickly stood up, fired an arrow, then retreated back under. They heard one of the pirates shriek in pain as the enchanted flint torched him alive. “Well, how’d it look back there?” Ryder readied himself, firmly clutching his dark broadsword. “There’s too many of ‘em!” “As I feared...We need to high-tail outta here. Quick!” Ryder tossed a pair of

gilded periwinkle boots to Damon. “Change into these!” Damon fumbled to catch one, letting the other plop down in front of him. “We’re gonna finally put our loot to good use.” Damon hurried to slip his new boots on, trying his damnedest to ignore the sounds of pirates boots (and one peg leg) scraping ever closer to the gunpowder keg they were both retreating behind. He had no time to ensure they were even tied properly before he had to grab their “bounty,” and book it again. The two stopped at the edge of the ship’s dock. The crew of pirates stood before them and all pointed their blades at the young scoundrels. Damon glanced down at the rolling ocean, squeezing the busty slave tighter in his arms. “Crap...” The slave’s cheeks flushed red. “Hey! Watch the merchandise.” “S-sorry!” He loosened up his grip around her again. Ryder secured his loot crate, slowly stepping back as the filthy marauders were closing in on them. “Ready?” He drew a staff with his free hand. “Aaaand...” Damon peered down to make sure his boots were on tight. Needless to say, he was getting cold feet from all this. “Now!” Ryder hollered as he slammed the staff against the wooden floor. A quick, harsh, heavy gust of wind blasted out in all directions from the staff ’s base. And a mere split second later, he was rocketed upwards, propelled up and far away from the ship. And the very next moment, he was but a mere speck in the sky, at the end of a long string of condensed air. Damon took a leap of faith into the ocean, the soles of his boots froze the water beneath him, keeping him from sinking below the surface. He regained his balance with noticeable difficulty as he slipped and wobbled about. First off, there was absolutely no friction to speak of on the makeshift ground beneath him. Mix that with his lack of upper body strength, along with the literal weight he had to carry for Ryder, and the fact that she just would not stop struggling in his arms. He could understand why, but it was still frustrating. Once Damon finally got a handle on the ice boots, he turned back and stuck his tongue out at the pirates mockingly. Like that would mean anything to the captain, though. He simply shoved his crewmates aside, and drew his loaded musket. Even from all the way in the drink, Damon could tell the captain had it aimed right between his eyes.

Under a short breath, he let out a pitiful squeal. “Meep...” Then, with his moment of cowardice aside, the scrawny teenage boy sprinted across the sea as the ice behind him blasted to bits from the pirates’ ammunition, making a run for it back to the shore. # Now in the home stretch, Ryder soared across the rippling salt waters at high speeds, tightly embracing the wooden staff as his thick, dark hair was blasted back by the intense winds. He pulled a compass from his pocket, carefully reading it. “Okay, so the shore is in the north west and I am...” Ryder focused in on the dial, then peered up to find land quickly rolling towards him. “Perfect!” Ryder put his compass away when he felt the wind staff jerk out of balance for a brief moment. “Ho god!” His heart sank as he felt everything around him slow down. The staff suddenly halted as momentum kept bringing him forward, but heavily dragged him towards the sea. Yep, that’s what he got for relying on that wind staff so much. He was still a decent hundred feet above the ocean, and currently running on empty. All Ryder could think to do in this split-second, fight-or-flight moment, was to simply look down as he plunged, grumbling futilely to himself. “Well, that’s just dandy.” Though the splash may have been a mighty one for our fabled adventurer, it would still leave the vast sea ultimately unperturbed as he quickly submerged in the salty waters. Ryder held his breath, only barely conscious, and shook beyond belief mind you, as he kept the chest steady in his arm. Yep, he thought to himself, he could’ve very easily died back there. However, Ryder lacked the luxury to dwell on his fickle mortality, for the impact had knocked his staff clean from his grip. And, before he could reach out to grab it again, the magical staff in question was already on course to sink to the bottom, and with no time for him to retrieve it. He still had his priorities, that of course being the treasure chest he held with an iron grip. Ryder used that newfound determination to boost himself towards the surface, breaking through its tension. He held the loot tight, and hastily paddled his way to land. # Damon scurried along the sea, trying to keep balance as much as possible while dashing across the freezing waters out of fear that he’d slip if his feet stayed grounded for too long. “Oh thank goodness...” He muttered to himself as the shore came into view on the horizon. He was fear-stricken once again as he felt his foot hit sudden friction. Damon tripped in the coarse sand and promptly fell on his back, with the buxom slave resting on top of him. “Whoop, sorry there buddy...” She tried to squirm her way off, which proved difficult with her hands tied behind her back.

“Mmmfrmmm!” He mumbled as the slave smothered him with her bosoms. “Alright; one, two, three...” The young lady leaned to one side, then grunted as she rolled off of him with one push. Damon sat there a moment, body drenched in sweat, most he knew was not his own, trying to catch his breath once again. He used a hand to shield his face from the sunlight. Needless to say, it was hard for him to reacclimate to the clear, sunny skies after his greeting with darkness. Pure, fleshy darkness. Once the slave had finally relaxed herself on the sand bed, she looked back to him with a coy grin. “You’re lucky you’re the one who saved me back there. Otherwise, that would’ve cost ya.” That, as one would expect, was more than enough to jerk Damon out of his almost equally relaxed state. He held up both his small, fingerless-gloved hands defensively, face now beet red. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, I swear!” Even if he did help free her from those nasty pirates, she still couldn’t help but snicker at Damon’s flustered response. Clearly, this poor kid had never hit it off with a woman before. “Kidding! Kidding...” Well, not entirely, but she wanted to show some mercy for this already heated young man. Damon took a deep breath, taking another quick moment to cool down. “Right.” Then, more silence. Rest assured, Damon wanted to say something-- anything, to make things less awkward for his new companion. But, as displayed beforehand, this young archer was not the most socially adept. And so, no progress was made at that time. That was until, thankfully, they both saw Ryder furiously paddle his way to shore. Well, partially because of his quick adrenaline boost, but also because he was miffed about the whole wind staff debacle. Upon finally reaching sandy purchase, Ryder found Damon gently placing the slave back on her feet. He joined in, noticing how Damon was having trouble finding something to say in this semi-awkward situation. Ryder turned to her, then proceeded to wrap things up with a speech he had to drill into his head years ago. “Okay; you were previously held captive by the Rebels of the Open Seas as sex property, but now you are officially liberated by an unaligned guild and yadda yadda other dry diplomacy shit. Point is, I’m setting you free.” Ryder walked behind her, drawing his broadsword. “Hold Still.” He carefully placed it between her back and hands, sharp edge facing the thick rope. With a yank, it tore in half and fell to the ground.

She held her hands up, rolling her wrists around for a bit. Once she got the blood flowing again, the former slave looked up to Ryder with a smirk. “Did that really need a vocal contract?” “Some don’t take kindly to a simple drop-off. Figured I’d set things off straight.” Ryder slipped his sword behind his back ever so carelessly, given he had no sheath for it. “Also, I won’t pay for clothes or food. You’re on your own with that.” Damon took a deep breath. He knew there was no chemistry between him and this new girl, but it still pained him to see her go. After taking a deep breath, the young archer collected what remaining confidence he had, and cleared his throat. “Y’know, he might not wanna pay for you, put I’d love to get you dinner tonight--” The young lady chuckled. “That’s cute, but I’ll pass.” She turned around, slyly waving as she strolled off to the dock down ahead. “‘Till next time, I’ll see what kinda work this body can get me.” With the way she said it, a “next time” sounded like a pipe dream to Damon. Also, that last part sounded rather foreboding to him. How old was she, anyways? With such a defined... figure as hers, he could only guess she was around eighteen. Either way, this woman was a tad outside his league, he must admit. “Right...” But seriously, though. She had to be eighteen, right? Ryder gave a soft chuckle as he shook his hair dry. “Don’t sweat, I’m sure you’ll find the right girl eventually. Let’s get some drinks.” He said that, and Damon figured it was for the better. As evidenced by this endeavor, his taste in women needed more time to mature. # With great gusto, Ryder triumphantly thrust open the tavern doors, trotting in like he owned the place. Damon followed close in pursuit, as if he had no other choice. Their loud entrance was met with indifference by its inhabitants, which all went through their daily routine, as if nothing had ever happened. Things were business as usual at the bar. Only today they had a small band of Orcs at one end (documented citizens, mind you) who had had one too many shots, evidenced by their roughhousing and all around rowdy behavior. The town’s youth were off in the game room. All perusing around the pool table, chugging down tooth-rotting cola and cracking jokes about the cue’s length and hardness. One of them held it between his legs and waving it around like he’s the star of the show. Quit being such a disappointment to your parents and get a job already, Ethan.

All the social outcasts were gathered at the round table, a respectable distance from those tools, toiling away on their island of solitude. They were now arse-deep in a game of Throne Conquest. Despite their dice sets costing more than an upper class salary, they were thrown around on a map like a set of cheap toys. Although, that description wasn’t inaccurate. Lastly, there were the alleged “normal folk” sitting in the booths. The simpletons who wanted to kick back and enjoy some semi-palatable bar food. One of which was a girl with long, curly mint hair, who was seated far away from the others. She spent these moments of isolation reading a book while slowly imbibing a thick latte topped with a mountain of whipped cream. After a quick scan of the area, our two heroes approached the bar, keeping as much distance from the Orcs as possible. Ryder hooked his leg around the booth before plopping down in it, while Damon maneuvered his way into the other. A young, mustachioed man would have walked in to tend to them, but was stopped by an older fellow. In his spot, the geriatric bartender approached them, all while rubbing down a glass pint with a rag. Even in old age, he was built like an ox. “Ah, it’s you two! Welcome back.” Once greeting Ryder and Damon, his focus on mug cleaning dwindled ever so slightly. “Been a while since I’ve seen your faces around here. I take it you two’ve been busy? Did’ja go on any new adventures?” Damon had his focus elsewhere. “You’ve been cleaning that pint for the past minute.” The bartender paused, peered down at the pint in question, before looking back up to the two young mercenaries. “Ah, you know me too well.” He gave a hearty chuckle. “I can’t help but live vicariously through you guys. You’re so young and free, able to take on any challenge the cruel world throws your way.” Damon gave a sharp inhale, raising his finger as if to rebut. But instead, he let Ryder take charge. “If we could afford dick for it, then yes.” The bartender’s once boisterous laugh faded into a mournful sigh. He cleared his throat, desperate to change the subject. “So, what can I getcha boys?” Ryder dropped his forearm on the bar table, expression ever so stern as he leaned forward. “Well, to start I want three good reasons to live in this god-forsaken world. And then, the willpower to push onwards in my own miserable life.”

“Comin’ right up!” The bartender placed down the mug he had just finished scrubbing, along with three shot glasses right in front of it. “But you better start showing some cash. Your current tab is eight emerald.” “Sure thing.” He shook a small sack empty, a handful of lapis pieces made a faint jingling sound as they dropped onto the counter. “Well, shit.” “Look, I love ya like a son, but I have to follow the rules of Norman Alliance commerce etiquette. Perhaps you should continue your usual business and return when you aren’t short on funds, I will be here anytime for you two.” The bartender began to slowly rub the mug with his rag. “On the other hand, I could let you in on free drinks if you were to help me recruit a new waitress. In order to get more work done, but it also helps keep customers.” Ryder grumbled under his breath. “I knew we shoulda kept the slave.” # The doors closed behind them again as they left; Ryder carried his treasure chest in both arms while Damon lagged behind, gradually picking up the pace to catch up with him. “That could’ve gone... better, I suppose. So where are we headed now?” Ryder grunted as he lifted up the chest a tad higher, keeping his stature upright. “To do what we shoulda done a while ago, we’re gonna trade our loot in to make more gem pieces.” He cracked it open, then briefly checked its contents. “Looks like we’ve got a couple tiny jewels-- and the rest is just colored rocks.” Ryder closed the chest, furrowing a brow. “Must’ve been a slow day... even for them.” “But wait, didn’t the last shop kick you out for being a stickler?” Ryder chuckled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, we’ll find a new place to sell it.” He closed the latch. “And for the record, they were the sticklers for only giving me one measly amethyst for a platinum shield.” “But that’s, like...” Damon stammered, “fifty whole--!” He inhaled sharply, and instead finished his rebuttal with a defeated sigh of anguish. “Nevermind.” The young archer rolled open his map of Coastport, snagging a pencil from a pocket on his quiver. “I’ll start looking for shops...” # Looking ahead to the north, there lay another province, sanctioned from all the filth and debauchery which plagued the docks. In this safe and unassuming part of town, a teenage girl was out in her backyard, fiddling with an unsheathed and razor-sharp blade. Kazmine was her name.

“Let’s see here...” She held it up by the hilt lengthwise. “Sharp end is structurally sound, no nicks to speak of.” The young lady, adorned in simple metal plating, slid her right foot into a forward stance. She gave a broad swipe with her saber, feeling it cut through the air with ease. “Nice and light. Quick, clean strike…” To finish, she pressed her fingers against the blade’s edge, watching it bend intently. “Alloy is sturdy yet flexible.” Kazmine chuckled to herself. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Dad.” She resheathed the sword, and headed inside. After placing the sword on the desk, Kazmine dropped off her metal breastplate and shield at the armor stand. Before returning to her shift, she wanted to admire that sword once more. Something about it made it seem destined for her. Hazel eyes darted around the shop. No one around but the other swords on display. In this quiet moment to herself, Kazmine propped her foot atop the chair. She held her sword out, striking a heroic pose. Her attention was fixed on the painting to her right: an armored couple, the male in a similar stance. Kazmine sighed. “Some day.” She stepped down and crouched behind the front desk. When searching for a place to stow the blade, she stumbled upon something peculiar. Disgruntled, Kazmine called down the hallway. “...Dad?” “What is it?” Lancewarthe’s voice came from the other room. “Why is there a shotgun under my desk?!” Her father was in the office, counting gems. Without breaking focus, he hollered back. “Now that this place is thriving, we gotta fight off burglars.” Sure, their neighborhood looked safe. But if he learned one thing from border patrol, the shadiest business lurked even in the cleanest parts. Lacking that experience, however, Kazmine saw it as a nuisance. She took it out, making room for the new saber. She took one last look at the painting, reminding herself that the man was once her father. The last place she could think to leave the gun was on a display shelf. To finish, Kazmine grabbed a paintbrush and wrote on the wooden sign below: LIMITED TIME ONLY For any 60Ͼ trade/purchase, you receive a free gun! Now content with her handiwork, Kazmine returned to the desk, and resumed her shift. She slouched over, cheeks rested comfortably in her palms as she watched the front door. The streets were empty today, as per usual. Most days, they’d only get one or two customers. Three if they’re on a roll. Her father wasn’t wrong. In this quiet sect, that was thriving. If life were truly like those adventure books she read, then she’d spent fifteen years stuck on the first page. Between her long-branching family of knights and go-getters and her conversely mundane life, that “call to adventure” was long overdue.

Kazmine was a girl of few needs. All she ever asked from the gods was a life of excitement, as opposed to the one she was so errantly assigned. Also, some shiny new earrings. -Maybe today would be different. Any moment now, destiny could be knocking on her-The front door slammed open. “What the hell’re you talking about?!” Ryder rebutted to his partner in crime, only adding to their loud entrance. “You could’ve at least shot one of them. You’ve got a bow!” Damon stepped in behind Ryder, equally invested in their current argument. “Okay, A: I had a hundred-something pound slave in my arms. And B: one of them had a gun! They would’ve killed me long before I could get the trajectory.” “All right, fine, sorry...” Ryder collected himself, turning his attention to the shopkeep. Namely, Kazmine. “So, whose sword we gotta shine to get some service?” Kazmine perked up. Clearly, these two weren’t from town. From the looks of it, they both crawled here from the crooked side of Coastport. Best be on her guard. “Welcome to the Emerald Gauntlet.” She eyed the one up front with the most suspicion, but far less on his timid companion. “How may I help you?” Ryder slammed his treasure chest on the counter. “I got stuff to sell.” He unlatched it, showcasing its less-than-impressive contents. “Right here we got some... Ah...” What the hell were these things? Glittered pebbles? “...Rare gemstones, right here.” Ryder ran his hands through them, like malformed doubloons. Those damned pirates were a bunch of weirdos, but by the gods his father didn’t raise a quitter. Time to lay down this sad sop. Kazmine took a deep breath, and mustered her best polite saleswoman attitude. “We appreciate the offer, but have to unfortunately decline. However, you may browse our shop. If not money, you may find something else of use--” “Ow, god!” Ryder jerked his hand out, now bleeding from his index finger. Deep within the sea of sparkle rocks, emerged two jade earrings, one of which had pricked him. They were absolutely stunning. The shade matched Kazmine’s eyes perfectly, as if they were destined for her. She took a deep breath, collecting herself again as she reached out for them. “Those, however, I can take off your hands for fifty emerald--”

“Nah-ah-ah!” Ryder swiped the chest away. “You looked really fond’a those just now. I ain’t pawnin’ those off for no chump change, missy!” She was in no mood for this today, if ever. “Fine. A hundred sound better?” “My ass. Two hundred, at least.” Kazmine grit her teeth. Already, she despised this man with every fiber of her being. “Fine. One-eighty sound more reasonable?” “You kidding me?” Ryder nudged Damon, trying to get a rise out of him. “I ask for the bare minimum, and you aim below?!” Ryder pointed at her accusingly. “You think this is some flea market, ah? Two hundred or higher.” Damon knew where this was headed. Might as well explore the shop before they both get the boot. Starting with the shelved equipment, there was nothing much worth noting. Some basic armor, swords, and leather footwear (surprisingly enough). But no arrows, or even gauntlets for that matter. From the looks of it, this place was another bust. Worse off it had nothing of use for him. That was, until he found something on the furthest shelf… “Three hundred, and that’s my final offer.” Kazmine stood, arms crossed. “If you can find a better price for those, then sell ‘em there!” Ryder shrugged. “A’ight.” He clacked the treasure chest shut, and nudged Damon again. “Then we’ll be on our way.” “Wait just a minute!” Kazmine cried out. Ryder looked back, eyebrow quirked. She let this quiet moment sink in. The young merchant wanted those earrings so badly, and now they were her undoing. “What’s wrong?” His shit-eating grin was stronger than ever. “Afraid we’ll find a better deal elsewhere?” “I...!” Kazmine bit her tongue, knowing she’d already dug her grave. Ryder slammed the chest onto the counter. “Don’t worry, we’ll getcha those precious earrings.” He rested his forearms and chin on top of the lid, his smug face up close to hers. “...But I get to name the price.” After all this, her dad was gonna kill her.

# For the first time in ages, they left the shop feeling content with the results. Or, at least, Damon thought so. When paired with someone as reckless and impulsive as Ryder, financial advising was always a challenge. But now they had a wallet full of gems, which Ryder was gleefully running through his grubby hands. Still though, it was nice to see him happy for a change. Meanwhile, Damon had snagged that rifle on display. With the government holding them under an iron fist, it was nigh impossible to afford firearms. “Well hot damn.” Ryder closed the gem pouch and dumped it in Damon’s hands. “This bitch is loaded!” “Heh, yeah.” Damon hoped he was referring to the pouch, and not... nevermind. “That was... surprisingly easy.” Normally, a stroke of luck like this spelled disaster. So naturally, the archer was on guard. Blue eyes danced around the walkway. From a distance, someone caught his attention. “...Everything alright?” Seemingly out of nowhere, Damon grabbed Ryder’s arm. “Get back!” Without a sharp eye like his partner’s, Ryder had no idea why Damon was dragging him behind the nearest building. But he trusted Damon’s judgement and hid alongside him. # A short while later, Lancewarthe had finished up. He made his way to the main room. “So, I heard some shouting in the other room.” He checked over the shop displays; seemed like nothing was purchased. “You didn’t scare off our customers again.” He eyed Kazmine. “Did you?” “Of course not.” Kazmine pointed to the treasure chest. “Someone sold this to us.” “Hopefully, not for too much.” “Only a small amount.” She leaned back on the counter, blocking the empty cash drawer. “Also, I got these new earrings.” “They look nice.” Lancewarthe made his way to the door. “Going to the shops. You want anything?” Kazmine shrugged. “Peaches?” He nodded. “See you in a few.”

And just like that, the young merchant was on her own again. She plopped back down in her chair and stared up at the ceiling. Several minutes pass, still stuck by herself. Nothing to do, and no one to do it with. This neighborhood didn’t have many kids her age, except that Travis guy. But he never had much going for him besides his ample rock collection. It was a nice ceiling, all things considered. In its whole, the shop wasn’t very well-furnished... but they did an okay job with the ceiling. Though with enough scrutiny, Kazmine could make out a few paint chippings. It seemed remodeling wasn’t in their budget this year. Enough about the ceiling, Kazmine needed something new to affix herself on. The shelves? The sagging floorboards? The door? There was a knock. Couldn’t they see the shop was open? They don’t need her permission to enter. The door burst open. Enter those pesky pirates from the very beginning. The captain stepped forth, letting his motley crew fill in behind him. He narrowed his eyes at the girl up front. “Sorry to intrude, little missy.” The captain held up a wanted poster. “But have ya seen these dickholes around?” It had clear caricatures of Ryder and Damon. There was no mistaking it. The assailants in question were just in her shop. Question was, should she rat them out? Before she could make the conscious choice, however-“Oy! That girl’s wearin’ our earrings!” cried the crew’s saucy wench (trust me, every pirate group needs one). The captain sneered. “What are ya, their lover?” Kazmine was embarrassed, but more so offended by that accusation. “Why do you ask?” “Ye might be of use after all.” He slipped a magnum out his coat pocket. “You’re coming with us, lassie.” The captain clicked off the safety, and pointed it at her. “Don’t go givin’ us trouble, if ya know what’s best.” God knows he was done with that today. She froze up. No way she could take these guys head-on, from where it stands now. The young apprentice took a couple steps back, very slowly, hand reached out for the armor stan-Bang! The gunshot pierced her hearing, just like the shrapnel pierced through the wall. After firing that warning shot, the captain turned his attention back to Kazmine. “This is yer last warning. Don’t play games with me.” Just great. Can’t grab a weapon and no one’s around to help her. Things were looking dire, and her dad was at the shops. Oddly fitting.

# Once the pirates were gone, Damon stepped back out of the shadows. “How’d they even know we were here?” Had they tailed them the whole time? “Who knows with them...” Ryder followed behind, checking their surroundings. From a safe distance, he could see the pirate crew leaving town. “Guess we’re in the clear?” He looked back to the shop they were in. Now, there was a note taped to the wall. Without hesitation, Ryder made his way over to grab the note. Damon followed behind, and leaned in to read it for himself. It was... riveting.

To the twerps who stole our shit, We’ve got your fiancé. If you want her back, alive and/or virgin, then give us back our stuff. Eat dicks, Rebels of the Open Seas (R.O.S.) By his own admission, Ryder was terrible at reading, and the sloppy manuscript did him no favors. Even then, he could glean what this was all about. Damon felt his gut stirring. The mere thought of this girl being kidnapped by those filthy scavengers put him at unease. Although... “...Should we step in again?” He swore the next time they meddled with pirates could be their last. # To keep outside Norman jurisdiction, the captain kept their ship stationed a safe distance from the docs. Besides, parking there was always a hassle. If this ransom went well, he was moving up in the R.O.S. And the fine dame before him, currently tied to the sail post, was his ticket. He looked over the girl in question. Had to give credit where it was due, those brats picked out a good one. She was pretty cute, and even had a little spunk. He could think of several people back home, male and female, who would pay top dollar for that. If they don’t show up to save her soon, he would gladly take her off their hands. Half an hour passed and no sign of those pesky kids. Guess the land-dwellers got cold feet in the end. With that, the captain was ready to sail off with his prize. As his crew went downstairs to lift the anchor, he sauntered over to his captive. “Looks like no one came fer ya after all.” He snickered, bearing his rotten teeth to her. “I-I...” Kazmine struggled in place, but soon found it futile.

“Kinda sad, really.” He stepped in closer. “No one cared you were captured. Must’a been lonely back there.” The captain leaned in, now face-to-face with her. “No friends, family, or anyone you could count on.” She pushed herself as far away from him as she could. “That’s... not true!” Of course her family cared... right? At least, the select few she actually knew did. Had she not left for border patrol, Kazmine knew her mother would step in. “I left those scoundrels a ransom note.” He pulled back, now picking gunk out of his overgrown fingernails. “Even so, anyone coulda seen that note and stepped in-but no one did.” “My dad would!” she cried out, with ever-diminishing confidence. “...Eventually, that is.” The man took forever at the shops. A sick laugh overcame the captain. “Oh man, ye’re gonna fit in here perfectly!” He leaned in again. “But first--” He reached both hands across her cheeks, seeming to caress them at first, before slipping back to pull out her earrings. “I’ll be takin’ these back.” Kazmine bit her lip, holding back a cry in pain. The captain laughed once more, stowing them away in his coat pocket. “I say that wraps things up nicely.” The moment he said that, they both heard a scuffle beneath the floorboards. The captain peered down into the ocean, dreading what was to come. And sure enough, there was a trail of ice. The hatch door leading downstairs burst open. From the rum cellar came Ryder and Damon. There went the captain’s new plan. Now back to the old one. The thought made him sneer. “And here I thought ye’d leave this dame for dead.” Ryder stepped forth, shaking his head with a grin. “After an affront like that, no dice.” Honestly, Damon was surprised, too. The Ryder he knew would keep their reward, and leave the girl to the captain’s devices. Almost as shocking as him using the word “affront” correctly. “For that, we’ll affront you crooks back to your crappy little island.” Damon rescinded his previous statement.

A reluctant groan escaped the captain. With an index and thumb between his lips, he let loose a ear-piercing whistle, which resonated through the ship. Only mildly annoyed, Ryder tapped the side of his head. “Coulda’ warned me first.” Fresh from the mini bar, entered the captain’s motley crew. The only female of the group spoke up. “Can this wait?” She whined. “We’re celebratin’ junior’s eighteenth birthday.” The private she referenced was now vomiting off the balcony. “Ferst of all, no it can’t,” barked the captain. “Second, ye don’t hav’ta be of age to drink, we’re pirates!” “Kill me...” cried their private, still casting up accounts. “Last of all, get them!” Ryder shrugged with a grin. “Y’sure? We can still negotiate.” They may not have the stolen goods on hand, but they did have the funds for it. However, their stolen slave was definitely off the table. “We can.” The captain drew his blade. “We’ll be negotiatin’ your lives!” Finally, his crew rushed to attack. Though their private stayed back, for obvious reasons. Ryder took a couple steps back. “Guess we’re fighting after all. You ready?” Damon drew his bow. “Right--!” Said bow was swiped from him, by the man once steering this vessel. “I don’t think so.” He kicked Damon to the ground, sharp rapier ready for stabbing. The archer rolled to his back. One blast from his new rifle, and the crew’s navigator was airborne. Two of his closest-- if not only-- friends came to avenge him. ...And two more rounds were enough to stop them. Damon checked his surroundings, keeping a mental tab on how many bullets were left in his gun. Which, by the way, was far more efficient than his normal bow. Reason enough he and Ryder could never afford one. A dagger flew off of the now-dead navigator, which landed right by Kazmine. She felt no rush to enter the fray, but the merchant refused to stay tied up while the others fought. It felt... degrading. Kazmine slid down as far as her bindings would allow, a foot reaching out to grab the knife that miraculously appeared before her.

Now furious, the captain charged at Ryder with his scabbard. Meanwhile, Kazmine cut herself free. For now, she left this bout in the hands of fate. Those same hands which smacked her across the face, as the pirate crew’s most corpulent member stepped in her way. “Not so fast, honey,” he said with a wicked grin, ready to hold her down again. Before that, she slid beneath his legs and hoofed it, even though she had nowhere to run to on this murder-laden ship. Ryder saw this play out, all while holding his own against the captain. “Ya know, she’s not bad for a newbie.” “What was that? Sorry, I’m a bit preoccupied here.” Kazmine said whilst dodging the fat pirate’s club. She stumbled back onto her feet, dagger ready to defend herself. Ryder hollered back to her. “I said your stance sucks! For crying out loud, spread those legs!” Should he have worded that differently? Did he care? Regardless, Kazmine followed his advice. A parry and a swing later, the dagger plunged deep into the pirate’s ample gut. He couldn’t utter any last words. He could only watch as his innards spilled out. Soon, his lifeless corpse joined them on the hard, wooden floor. Kazmine was taken aback, understandably so. “Oh my gods, I just killed someone!” As their one-on-one fight took him closer to her, Ryder called back again. “Good work, just gotta do that four more times.” Damon had them covered there. With five rounds left, he put a bullet in every last pirate who threatened him with their guns before. In this world of anarchy, nothing beat some good ol’ karmic retribution. Now all that remained was the captain. Even with all his pirately pride, the man knew when he was beat. He shoved Ryder to the ground with the blunt edge of his sword before rushing to the ship’s edge. Once there, he turned back to his intruders. “This is where we part, scumbags.” If he can catch their raft at the bottom, he can always beg the elite five for a new ship. He saluted them with a wicked grin, as he slid back into a freefall. “But rest assured, you ain’t seen the last of me.” Bang! And that was the last they saw of him, as Damon fired his rifle at him... only to miss completely and hit their gunpowder kegs instead.

“Whoops.” Well, the captain was still killed by the explosion, as far as they could tell. It also blasted a hole in the ship, causing it to list. Kazmine hugged the sailpost for dear life. The place she was once tied to offered her comfort. Poetic, right? ...That’s horrible, you say? Well, I tried. She glanced down in horror as bit by bit, the floor behind her was swallowed by the ocean. Her feet were sliding off the floor now, as it tipped back towards the boundless depths. Good. Who needed a stable floor to count on anyhow? Now, best hope she had in surviving this was Ryder and Damon, who seemed far less concerned about this dire situation. “What’re we gonna do?!” Kazmine called back to them. “Same thing we always do.” Said Ryder, whilst nudging Damon. “Put our loot to good use.” A quick nod, and Damon slid down into the awaiting sea, this time without hesitation. As to be expected, the surface froze solid beneath his feet, along with the surrounding two-foot radius of water. The waves still rocked him, but he pressed on until a safe amount was frozen solid. He turned back to the others. “You guys ready?” Their ice trail to the ship had mostly melted away, but he could still use it as a guideline for the way back. Damon seldom took the leader role. But hell, he may as well just this once. Ryder followed right behind him, only after prying Kazmine off the sailpost. Damon rushed forth, solidifying a new path to shore. He knew if they didn’t act fast, the ice would soon melt. But more importantly, he feared that the moment he stopped, he would completely lose his balance. Seeing that, Ryder kept a steady pace behind him. Kazmine, however, struggled to keep her balance atop the slippery, uneven surface. She still tried her damnedest to keep up with them. Two steps forth, and she was in over her head. Ryder was reluctant to help, after watching her walk right off the edge. Regardless, he wasn’t going to let the poor lass drown. He reached down and hoisted her up from the treacherous waters. Kazmine coughed and sputtered, her body nearly limp from exhaustion. It had been a long day for the poor merchant.

Just as reluctantly, Ryder picked her up in his arms bridal style. “I gotcha.” From this point onwards, he carried her back to shore. ~ Damon was finally getting the hang of these enchanted boots, and was now cruising along his icy path home like a glorified ice skater. Long as he kept west-bound, the archer had a handle on this-- Shit!! A wrong move from his ankle, and Damon fell head-first into the sea. The surface froze around his soles, keeping him trapped upside-down underwater. So close to shore, and now he was gonna die. ...Been a recurring theme today. Damon reached up to his feet, fighting gravity itself as he scrambled to unlace his enchanted boots. As is, the poor kid sucked at tying and untying his own shoes. And now, some new elements of challenge were tossed in the mix. For instance, the strong chance of dying in the most pathetic way imaginable. Luckily, the fear of death was one hell of a motivator. With enough work, he just shimmied out of them instead. His worn-out body was swept to shore by an oncoming wave. He was saved by his shoddy excuse for a bow tie knot. Following shortly after, Ryder made it back with Kazmine. To make it sooner, he had to (reluctantly) hold Kazmine’s hand the whole way here. They swam the rest of their way to shore in lieu of Damon’s folly. Now exhausted, Ryder plopped himself down next to Damon. “What happened back there?” Damon looked off to the floating disk of ice with dread. “Magic is so, so god damned stupid.” “Gotcha.” At least now they caught a glimpse of the setting sun before it sank into the horizon, leaving traces of gold around the darkened skies. Kazmine could get used to this kind of sight. She had seen plenty of sunsets back home, but something about this one felt more... cathartic. Come to think of it, a lot happened today. Something she really enjoyed. Something she wanted more of in her monotonous life. “‘Ey miss.” Ryder slowly stood. Kazmine brushed herself off, then turned back to him. “Hm?” “In light of nearly getting ya killed, here’s your money back.” He tossed his gem sack her way.

Woefully unprepared, Kazmine fumbled to catch it. “Promise you won’t tell yer dad about this.” She picked it back up, then took a deep breath. “Actually, I was just thinking...” Why was she thinking this? This guy was horrible. Why did she want this so badly? Oh, right. The call to adventure. “Can I join you guys?” For the first time in three years, Ryder was left speechless. Damon blinked. “Come again?” Another quick breath and Kazmine continued. “On, like, all your quests and stuff. I dunno.” Not the best phrasing, but she’s getting there. “All that time in the shop, I got to learn about every kind of adventuring equipment, weaponry, combat skills, different crafting materials and alloys. Yet never have I once gotten to use them.” She fidgeted ever so slightly. “Besides, I still owe you guys for saving me back there. I wanna help out however I can.” Damon leaned and whispered in Ryder’s ear. He shook his head in response and pushed Damon away. “Yeah, whatever, you can join.” “Wait, really?!” Kazmine could barely hold back her excitement. “Don’t make me regret it.” Not that he wasn’t already. “We’ll swing by your place tomorrow morning.” Times like these, Damon questioned Ryder’s life choices the most. “Right! Almost forgot.” He handed back Kazmine’s gun. “Think I’ll stick with my bow for now.” That said, he could see one way this girl could be useful. “If you want, I got something to donate to your shop.” # Despite reacquiring their shotgun, instead, the Meralde family had a new item on display.

ICE BOOTS For only 115Ͼ, you too can walk on water! Lancewarthe was surprised to find Kazmine up so early this morning. It was near impossible to rouse her before noon. But here she was, looking brighter than ever. “What happened to all the peaches?” “Mhmmn--?” As he asked that, Kazmine sunk her teeth into the last peach. She struggled to swallow her massive bite. “Sorry!”

He shook his head with a smile. “So, what brings you up so bright and early?” “Right! About that...” Kazmine took a moment to collect herself. It still felt unreal to her. “I made some new friends yesterday, and was hoping to spend some time with ‘em today. Is it alright if you took my shift?” “Absolutely.” The fact that Kazmine had friends was a huge step-up for her. He often wondered how long she would stay cooped up in this lonely old place. He knew she needed this. She needed to experience what the world had to offer. There was a knock on the door. Kazmine jumped. “Oh! That’s them.” She tossed away her half-eaten peach. “Thanks Dad, I love you.” A quick peck on the cheek, and she was out the door. ~ “Alright.” Ryder raised an index finger to Kazmine. “What’s yer name again?” “...It’s Kazmine Meralde-” “Too long. I’m callin’ ya Kass.” Fair enough, she supposed. “So, what now?” “What now is we need some quick cash.” He poked her cheek. “And you are gonna help us.” With a pout, Kazmine swatted away his hand. “After that fiasco with the dickwads of the seas, we got no fallback.” “So that’s it,” she groaned, “you guys are just a bunch of mercenaries, risking your lives for a quick ruby.” She knew this was too good to be true. “Maybe it’s best I stay home--” “Ap ap ap...” Ryder grabbed her by the arm. “A deal’s a deal, missy.” He let go, turning back to Damon. “We’ll pry for info later. First, I need a pick-me-up.” Without prompting the others, Ryder turned his back to them, and made his way over to the bar. “C’mon guys, we got a long day ahead of us.” Damon shrugged, and walked alongside him. He took only a brief moment to check back on Kazmine. “Try and keep up, or he will ditch you.” She was having second thoughts, not that she had a say in it anymore. Either way, the poor girl was in over her head now. ... Just the price she had to pay for the life of an adventurer.

Texas State Capitol 1 Andrea Angeli Gonzales 55

Control Harper Brymer The pains of my heart are something Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d rather Not talk about, but the faucet must run For the winter is eternal in the lands of my mind.

You Belong to Me Ari Reyes 57

Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll Be Back Late Izzy Smith I slept until 1:00pm today I dreamt of a sweet serene place Where I was in a field of flowers The wind blowing my hair and brushing in my face I for once didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t feel like I was in a race To get out of my dreams I ran through the field with my arms in the air Looking to the sky I started to cry I want to stay here in this dream I toss and turn and open my eyes Seeing my sheets and my pillow It was only a dream But I can create this dream in my mind And go visit anytime

Digital Landscape Jeff Stirling

Rhythm Jeff Stirling

Surviving While Drowning Alana Auber I can’t breathe. Something slides in and out of my mouth. It slithers down my throat and blocks my trachea; I think some of it ends up in my stomach. I erupt into a coughing fit, gagging on the foreign substance. I open my eyes and desperately claw at my mouth, trying to rid it of the taste, though there isn’t much of one anyway. However, whatever is in my mouth sifts between my fingers. I pull them out and examine them. They’re wet; it’s water. Everything around me is water, miles and miles of endless ocean, calm and murky and cold. A chill crawls up my spine and I flinch, shuddering violently. What is going on? I don’t understand. Anxiety swells in my chest and my breathing quickens. My heart pounds harder with each beat, and I shut my eyes. I slip under the water, but quickly break the surface again. I grasp my arms and force myself to take longer breaths to calm myself. Eventually, my heart rate slows, and my chest loosens. I don’t wish to stay here anymore, but there’s no easy way out, either. I open my eyes and will my arms and legs to propel me forward; I don’t care which direction. I guess I’ve been treading water because my limbs feel heavy and drained. How long have I been here? I shake the question out of my head. Just swim, don’t think. That’s an odd thing to tell myself. I shake my head again. Swim. Just swim. It’ll be ok. *** Morning is here, and she knows she must get up. She turns over and looks at her phone: it’s 7:45 a.m. Must she get up now? Can’t she just stay here longer? Her body weighs like lead and the day’s tasks loom over her. Eight a.m. rolls by and she wrestles the covers off, but when she attempts to sit up, she recalls a homework assignment she didn’t finish. She whimpers, flops back down on the bed, and covers the shameful tears that stream down her face. She’s no stranger to finishing homework at the last minute, but she can’t even fathom trying to complete it now. Why this time was different was hard to say; she just didn’t like the thought of worrying about it today. It’s 8:15 a.m. now; she knows she must get up because the world will only continue to spin. She wipes the frustrating tears from her face and peels herself out of bed. Classes are difficult to get through that day. They’re long and she can’t concentrate. Her stomach growls, but she doesn’t want to eat. She’s in and out of thoughts all day. Her unfinished homework assignment burns in the back of her

head despite numerous attempts to tell herself that she’ll finish it during her hour break. That negative thought spawns another of self-deprecation episode and scenarios she likes to refer to as “what-ifs.” What if she doesn’t finish the assignment and the professor is angry with her? What if she fails because of this one assignment? What if she doesn’t understand this assignment no matter how hard she tries? What if there’s a quiz? These what-ifs aren’t the worst that she’s thought of before; she’s driven herself to mental breakdowns over the most unrealistic outcomes of future events. But she mustn’t let them get to her. Class ends, and she leaves. It’s lunch hour and her stomach growls again; she’s not hungry. She wants to work on homework and call her aunt. *** The swishing waves drone in my ears as I paddle. My legs and arms burn so much I’m afraid they might fall off my body. I keep forcing myself to kick forward with all my strength, but it’s laboring. How much farther do I even have to swim? Better yet, how long have I been swimming? I swivel my head around and try to find some sort of landmark, but I find nothing in the distance. I look up at the sky and try to find the sun, but there is no sun, sky, or clouds. It’s just a grey blur, much like the water that surrounds me. I bring my eyes forward again and try to make out some sort of shape on the horizon. But nothing is there. I’ve been swimming towards nothing. Fear grips my chest and my heart rate quickens; I can’t breathe again. What am I supposed to do to get out of here? The waves, once quiet and calm, swell around me. They’re not huge, but they’re not small either. They crash into me, pulling me under the surface. I shut my eyes as the swishing sound disappears, leaving me in complete silence. Worthless. The silence cracks like glass and my eyes fly open. Inky darkness surrounds me, and I can’t tell which way is up anymore. Look at you, so pathetic. My arms and legs scramble to propel myself, but the burning hasn’t gone away. Pain shoots up my body and I flinch. Why do you bother trying? It’s not going to get better. Stupid, stupid, stupid. That’s what you are. I cover my ears and shut my eyes again, curling into a ball. You never learn, you just keep stumbling, flailing. What’s the matter? Can’t swim without your MOMMY?! I open my mouth to say something, but water rushes in. My airway closes, and I freeze as all will drains from me. I feel myself slowly start to sink, but as I close my eyes, I feel something lift me upwards. I break the surface and erupt into a coughing fit as I bob up and down in the water. The waves are still rough and try to pull me under, but I’m brought back to the surface just as quickly. I’m clutching something: a large piece of driftwood. I don’t know where it came from, but I hold it close to my chest, wrapping my arms and legs around it.

The waves get stronger and bring me under again and again, and each time I hear the voice. I don’t know why it won’t go away, but the driftwood keeps me from hearing it for long. I just must hold on. Just hold on. It’ll be ok. *** She doesn’t pay attention to anything in her last few classes. It’s not the professor’s fault, nor is it hers. She gave up trying after her break ended, after her phone call with her aunt. Her grandmother fell and broke her wrist today, and her grandfather is no longer alive to help his wife. One of her sisters is ditching school, the other is too self-absorbed to help around the house. One of her brothers is grounded for playing on his electronics too long, the other is doing drugs in his bedroom. Her dad is off and watching movies in his office, and her mother is screaming from lack of sleep because she’s on-call for the hospital. It was only slightly chaotic at home, all things considered. She needs to concentrate on the lecture, but it’s hard. Terrible thoughts and what-ifs keep pounding in her mind. She puts her head in her hands and tries to block the thoughts by daydreaming; nothing happy comes to mind. She pulls out her notebook to take notes; she can’t listen to the professor. She pulls out her writing notebook to brainstorm writing ideas; she thinks her writing is terrible. She pulls out her laptop to work on schoolwork; she stares at the white screen. The professor is probably upset with her lack of effort. *** The water is icy now. It was cold before, but now I can’t feel my fingers or toes. I can tell they’re hurting because of how hard I’m gripping the driftwood, but the mere thought of moving is painful to contemplate. I am used to the placement of the splinters, and with the way the waves have been behaving, adjusting myself is the least of my problems. A storm is blowing in over the ocean, and it’s now raining. The razor-sharp droplets slice my skin and I can’t see. I close my eyes. The waves are aggressive and wrestle to pull me underneath. And when I’m under them, the voice continues to scream things at me. I do my best to block the noise, but even the most enduring person cannot ignore the demeaning screams. The waves rise and crash down. Stupid! Horrible! Worthless! I break the surface, gasp and cough. I don’t have time to catch my breath before I’m down under again. Worthless and weak! You can’t do anything right! You can’t help anyone, not even yourself! Up again; must grip the driftwood tighter; mustn’t slip off. Down again. Look at you, drowning and can’t help yourself! Stop being so pathetic! If you were smart, you would actually do something! Up. Down. But no! You just cower at your aunt’s house! You just watch! Watch and don’t do anything to stop it! Stop being so scared! Grow up! It’s impossible to catch even a tiny breath when I surface again, and the coughing doesn’t help. My strength is slipping away, what little of it is left, and I can’t tell if I’m crying. I have to hold on; this will pass.

It’ll be ok. No, it won’t. This’ll never pass, and you know it. Why do you bother? I don’t know why, to be honest. I just can’t let it get to me. Oh, it’s been getting to you for years. Don’t lie to yourself. I’m not, it’ll be ok. No, it won’t. Things will never get better, and you know it. Maybe they won’t, but maybe they will. Liar. You’re going to suffer forever. No. Yes. No! YES! Lightning strikes and thunder roars, the rain turns to hail, and the waves soar miles above the water level, taking me with it. The water folds and curls and sends me tumbling deep into the black void; I don’t know how far down it sends me. My lungs scream for air and I react violently as I try to swim up, ignoring the splitting pain that comes with detaching myself from the driftwood. I attempt to crawl my way upwards, but my lungs give out and water floods through my mouth. My body spazzes and closes my throat, locking me in place. I want to scream, I want to swim, I want to breathe! But I can’t...my body starts to sink. It’ll be ok. *** She wakes up late the next morning. She’s not sure how she feels, for better or worse. She doesn’t have school today, but she still has things to do. Her stomach growls, and she goes downstairs to make something since she didn’t eat yesterday. She does the laundry, but leaves the clothes in a messy heap on the couch. She loads up a game to play but quits after 45 minutes. She tries to work on a paper but flops down on her bed and sleeps. An hour later, she picks up her cousin from school, prepares dinner, then sits on the couch and stares at the ceiling. Later that night, she forces herself to finish whatever schoolwork she can trudge through. She settles into bed at midnight but can’t sleep. Her thoughts are jumbled and murky, but she tells herself it’ll be okay.

Hamilton Pool Reserve Andrea Angeli Gonzales 65

Author aND aRTIST bIO Statments Poetry Ace Boggess Ace Boggess is author of four books of poetry, most recently I Have Lost the Art of Dreaming It So (Unsolicited Press, 2018). His writing appears in Notre Dame Review, Rhino, Rattle, and other journals. He received a fellowship from the West Virginia Comission on the Arts and spent five years in West Virginia prison.

Izzy Smith Izzy is currently a freshman Writing and Rhetoric major who has such a passion for writing, especially writing poetry. Izzy’s been writing poetry since middle school, but only started taking it seriously for about a year now.

Harper Brymer Harper Brymer is a freshman who likes writing and literature an awful lot.

Kathie Rojas Sofie Canestaro Sofie Canestaro is a lost little word collector from the forest. One day she’ll learn what to do with all of her favorite words, but until then, she’ll share the small arrangements she’s put together with her fellow hopeful writers in this corner of the world.

Prose Jeff Stirling Transfer student from Austin Community College, pursuing a Creative Writing major. Digital artist, voice actor, writer, editor, and rookie musician. You can find some of Jeff ’s work at Over Coffee Creations, a writing group founded on Youtube.

Rebecca Harville This is the third year of Rebecca having to talk about herself and accomplishments. Given that she’s done something funny last year, she’s seriously considering being serious this year. But who is she kidding? Rebecca can almost never be serious when she talks about herself, but she’s great at giving out peace signs.

Quinn Zukowski Quinn Zukowski has published a chapbook and a book of poems in the last year and a half, both well received by Quinn’s online following in the U.S and abroad. Quinn is currently working on a second book, and hoping submissions like this can provide a platform to share Quinn’s story and speak from the heart.

Calista Robledo

Calista Robledo is a freshman at St. Ed’s and is very excited to have her first creative writing piece be published with New Lit! Calista is also so happy to be apart of New Lit’s editing team as a Poetry Copy-Editor. Calista enjoys all forms of art, but aside from writing her favorite is dance.

Alana Auber Alana Auber is a senior writing and rhetoric major with an emphasis in creative writing. She’s an aspiring storyteller who enjoys reading and writing from various genres, and she hopes to publish books after she graduates.

Josetheil Gepulle Josetheil is a junior studying English Literature who loves writing about love no matter what the form and aims to portray the power and drive of the emotion. While the actions we do for others seem small, Josetheil wants others to know that it can be powerful in its own special way.

Visuals Andrea Angeli Gonzales Andrea is a third culture kid from Cebu, Philippines, aspiring to be a pediatrician. She loves baking, photography, traveling, and exploring the outdoors. You’ll find her reading a book or planning her next big adventure.

Ari Reyes

Ari Reyes is an artist/illustrator and a senior here at St. Edward’s, studying for a bachelor’s degree in Art. Ari’s main interests in art range from a love for the natural world (seen through Pantheist beliefs and practices), a captivation for astronomy and neural science, as well as an appreciation for folklore and the mystic/wiccan.

Jeff Stirling (See Bio Statment in Prose)

Josetheil Gepulle (See Bio Statement in Prose)

Fall 2019 staff List Name:

Title:

Timothy Nguyen

Editor-in-Chief

Kristyn Garza

President

Melinda Hurtado

Head of Design Department

Miki Nguyen

Assistant Designer

Sofie Canestaro

Assistant Designer

Aleida Lopez

Head Poetry Editor

Vicky Ortega

Head Poetry Editor

Rebecca Harville

Head Prose Editor

Patrick Behrens

Head Prose Editor

Dani Vazquez

Poerty Editing Board Leader

Alana Auber

Poetry Editor Board Leader

Magdalene Matzen

Poetry Copy Editor

Maddie Middleton

Poetry Copy Editor

Calista Robledo

Poetry Copy Editor

Kira Klindworth

Poetry Copy Editor

Name:

Title:

Carolynn Dunn

Prose Copy Editor

Audrey Dial

Prose Copy Editor

Niccola Pelicano

Prose Copy Editor

Megan Hess

Prose Copy Editor