Voices and Visions

KELLY WALSH | FINE ARTS MAGAZINE | 2015

oi c es & isions

Shattered Courtland Howie

Becoming

By April Watson

I go where the road takes me Every twist and turn hopefully less traveled by Each corner a new surprise.

I am how the wind has carved me Eroded well beyond weary Corroded, yet to be discovered, simply a theory I am how God has made me Internal and un-telling, amicable and compelling Deranged and day dreaming, troubled yet never dwelling I will let life turn me Into the woman I’m yet to be Into a person my future can admire, Someone those I’ve left behind can aspire to remember with a smile I want to always be worthwhile.

I am so many things I never dreamed I would be.

I see in ways I didn’t know I could see.

Reforming the old into the new to keep from rusting.

Decomposing, yet regenerating, constantly readjusting.

There is no telling what’s next For I am the product of “Cause and Effect” Honestly, describing me in a phrase Isn’t the easiest of ways, But to say at the least, I am simply Becoming.

Ode to the Wendigo

By Steven Leete Be Do Do Do Do Be

good children, lest the Wendigo come in the night and steal you away not speak lies to your parents, lest he steal your voice. not listen where you aught not, lest he steal your ears not touch what you mustn’t, lest he take your hands not watch what mustn’t be seen, lest he takes your eyes good little children, or he may steal you away.

Untitled Mackenzie Mohr

Running For My Life

By Tiana Saunders

My feet grew tired and my legs began to give out the harder I ran, but I had to get away. The man’s heavy footsteps from behind me fueled my fear and adrenaline pumped through my veins.

My safety was in sight.

I was so close.

But I was too late.

Untitled Erin Appel

Taken Away

By Courtney Stai

They were taken away.

The innocence remained in their eyes.

We never lost hope over here.

Efforts were made for your return.

Though it was up to us.

Never released to see home again.

Who knows how long she’d been off the Earth?

When did the angels carry her up to the skies?

A family left heartbroken.

A country out for justice.

Everlasting Nature Tyler Cody

Where Were You?

By Alex Smart

I was here in the city, on a day like today, when it happened. Suddenly, out of the blue, our skyline had changed. And now, years later, people ask me, where were you?

I was at home, with my family. I turned on the TV, and everywhere they were showing, confirming the rumors that tragedy was unfurling. Even now, I see, how it affected people other than me… and still each time I hear, “I love you, dear”, the sound of that day still rings in my ear.

Have you seen my son, my daughter? My father, my mother? This and others I hear, voices trembling, quaking in fear, of losing someone they hold dear. I can’t help but feel their pain, as the search goes on, perhaps in vain.

I think of my mother and I, waiting anxiously for my brother to come home, back not from our country, but from another. When a call comes through, it’s my brother, asking to tell my mother he loves her. Later we find, his plane was one of the images etched in our minds.

Here, there and everywhere, we feel the pain of those who are trying to heal. I go to church; I kneel and pray that tomorrow will be a better day. That somehow, it would go away. Those we lost, we wish could stay, as we move on in our own way.

Where were you, on that sad day?

Where were you?

Baby Doll

By Isabella Ellis They sat in silence, her hair covering her face and his eyes looking at anything but her. The relationship had been…tense the past while. He’d gotten too attached and she’d gotten too distant.

“Derek… I can’t do this anymore,” she whispered, biting her lip. “I… I can’t.”

“Can’t do what, sweetie?” he asked, looking down at his girlfriend.

“I can’t be with you,” she said. “I can’t do it…”

“Why not?” His brow furrowed in concern. “Molly, was it something I did?”

“It was everything you’ve done lately!” She snapped. “You never give me

time alone and you grab me when I try to leave and you want me to stay and--”

“Molly…” He whispered. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, Derek!” She yelled, standing up. “I’m leaving, right now!”

“Sit down, right now,” Derek replied, his eyes flaring with anger. “Don’t make

me say it twice.”

“No! I won’t sit down!” Molly said, stepping away from him. “I’m leaving!”

“Sit down!” He snapped, slapping her across the face and making her fall to

the ground with a loud thump. “When I tell you to do something, you do it!”

“Derek, don’t get violent—”

“Then stay where you are, you don’t leave me until I say you can leave me!”

Derek yelled. “I never said you could leave!”

“But…I can’t do this anymore. It’s too much,” she replied, her voice barely

above a whisper. “I can’t.”

“You can do it if I tell you to,” he replied, pulling her to her feet roughly.

“Derek, why are you making me stay?” she asked, trying to fight the tears

threatening to spill out. “Why do you care that much?”

“Why?” He gave a chuckle. “Why not? You’re my baby doll. I need you,

Molly, more than anything else in the world.”

“Really?” Molly pulled her arm away with some difficulty. “Then who’s Maria?

I saw you texting her, I saw what she sent you.”

Derek looked at her, his eyes darkening in anger. Saying nothing, he grabbed

her by the hair, throwing her into the wall.

“Maria is a friend from work,” he whispered, moving to her and kicking her

hard in the gut. “She’s also none of your business.”

She let out a breathless wail, falling to her knees. Oh god, she was stuck,

wasn’t she? Completely stuck.

He kicked her in the head at that point, watching her fall into a heap on the

ground with a smile.

“There we go. Now be a good girl and don’t get up, okay?”

Acorn (Excerpt)

By Harriet Norcross I never thought I’d believe in ghosts.

I woke with a start in blank blackness. I glanced groggily at my light-up wristwatch. Three o’clock.

Squinting around my room in the faint light coming from the streetlamps outside, I couldn’t discern anything that might have woken me. The entire house was quiet. There was no noise outside. It seemed almost too quiet—this was Boston. Wasn’t it supposed to be loud at night in the city?

I crawled over to the window and brushed aside the curtains, peering out into the night. The street was dimly lit by the tall iron lampposts, casting an orange light over the stony path.

All of a sudden, prickles shot up and down my arms and I shuddered, pulling the faded quilt closer around my shoulders. My breath caught in my mouth. There was someone outside, walking along the middle of the road.

A girl with long, pale brown hair and a soiled white nightdress wandered slowly down the street, her feet bare and chapped. Her hair, spilling out of a messy bun, poured over her shoulders and down her front to her waist. Her face was white as powder and her lips were a deep purplish blue, a bleeding bruise halfway between her nose and chin. Her eyes were like black holes borne into her skull as they stared unblinkingly forward.

Her breath steamed the air, but she continued forward, seemingly indifferent to the chill slicing through her clothes. Her tattered, outdated dress—obviously oncewhite but now a dingy yellow color—hung from her thin frame. The hem of her skirt was in shreds and her collar was ripped; a knit crimson shawl hung loosely from the crook of her right elbow. The red stood out brassily against her colorless person. It dragged along the ground as she moved, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

Repeatedly placing one foot slowly in front of the other, she walked as though on an invisible string, her arches curving and toes pointing slightly with each step.

Just as I thought perhaps she’d move past without realizing my observation of her slow progression, she looked up at me with one sharp motion, staring into my eyes, facial features slack and expressionless. Her gaze was like an icicle straight into my heart. I gasped and dropped the curtain as if it were in flames, my heart racing a million miles a minute.

A moment later, I mustered my courage and slowly lifted the corner of the linen cloth. I squinted out onto the street in disbelief. She was gone.

I never thought I’d believe in ghosts.

6-Word Memoirs Lazy people write six word memoirs.

–Blake Szymczak The world of words captivates me.

–Tiana Saunders Beautifully taboo in every way possible.

–Daycha Dunn Never and ever changing: that’s life.

–Brook Lindstrom My desk: an example of procrastination.

– Jason Pierantoni My whole world is the stage.

– Tiana Saunders If thoughts spoke, I’d listen forever.

– Daysha Dunn Untitled Harley Jackson

If zombies come, I’m tripping you.

– Brook Lindstrom

Untitled MaKenzie Norden

The Starry Night Rolls In Harley Jackson

Untitled Hunter Hout

Untitled Taylor-Jean Day

Untitled Julyun Bui

Madness

By Jamie Bradford

Alice in darkness

Anarchy between ghosts

The ashes fall

Malevolence kills not us

Escape to the road

42

By Brook Lindstrom

How do you know that you’re truly living, that your life isn’t a dead

end, that everything you worked for and dreamed of isn’t obsolete? So many people ask this question and everybody answers it differently.

A woman in politics who has a seat in the Senate might say that’s its because she made a difference towards the good. A teacher may say it’s because he helped her get there and an artist may say that it’s because she aspired to live that way.

The answer to that question is: you don’t.

My name is Ralia; I am a junior in high school. My parents are bikers and high school dropouts.

Both of them were the rebels. They both work 8 to 5 jobs to pay the bills and pay for the stuff my little brother and I want. We are teenagers so that is getting to be more as time goes by. We try not to make it to oexpensive, though, so that we don’t spend so much of their money.

My dad is always saying, “Don’t worry about the price, it’s my job to worry about the price.”

But, we can’t help it; we’ve done it since we were very little. Being told that we couldn’t have something because it cost too much. So now we are both very conscious of just about everything, including how much we affect the people around us. My brother is in a lot of sports so he does affect a lot of people. I, on the other hand, don’t do any sports, so the number of people I affect is significantly less.

“So what’s going on this weekend?” Taya slides into the seat next to mine and squeezes me tight. “ Just the student directed plays, one of which I am in.”

“Ooh, so that’s what you’ve been doing, what made you decide to do drama?”

“I don’t know I just did it.” I look down, realizing that I don’t know why I decided to try out.

“Well I am definitely going, so when is it?”

“They’re all on Friday night.”

“What are the shows?”

“Umm, well there’s, The Election, Anonymous and Peter and Wendy. They are all really good.”

“Which one are you in?”

“Anonymous.”

“So what is it about?”

“A girl who moves schools is all I’m going to tell you.”

“Oh, come on you got to give me more than that.”

I smile and cross my arms in exclamation. She prods some more then gives up.

“Taya, I need your help.”

Taya is staring dreamily off at the senior football players. She sighs and tilts her head.

“Tayyaa, hey, Taya.”

She jerks to a normal sitting position when Luke Monroe glances over and looks at her.

“Is he still looking?”

I lean out and look at their table. “No.” She leans over and jumps back to her seat. She punches me in the arm. “You jerk, he was too.”

I laugh and continue to eat my lunch. The football player’s conversation floats to my ears.

“Where are you going, man?’

“To sit with someone else.” “ Luke, man, did we do something wrong?’ “ No, it was something that I did.”

I see Luke approach our table from the corner of my eye and I laugh. “ What are you laughing about?” I don’t answer. Luke stands in front of our table and Taya’s jaw drops; her face turns bright red.

“Hey, I’m Luke. What is your name?”

Taya stammers as the boy stands in front of her with a smile that says he adores her.

“Can I sit down?”

She stares at him, mouth agape and nods like an idiot. His smile grows and she finally smiles back.

“I’m Taya and this is Ralia.”

“Hi.” “ Nice to meet you, Ralia.”

“You too, I have to go work on my project, see ya later.”

I smile to myself at the perfect circumstances that brought this boy to my friend. I walk and wonder about the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy-- how everyone is wondering what the answer to life is.

I walk around the park, studying people who laugh at the joke told by their friend or how their dog landed from his jump. I sit in the cubicle city of an office building staring at the monotone job that all these people do. I meander through an art gallery watching the artist that hopes to aspire to be able to do what others have done. I watch the raising of a beam as a crane operator lifts it into place for the finish of the building. I see the people scurrying out of the IRS building wondering how they’re going to pay their taxes. I notice animals, completely content in what they do, playing in the water or simply walking with their owners. Animals frolic around and play, happy with everything in the world.

“Ugh, This is the worst project ever written.”

“Oh, come on it can’t be that bad.” Taya Sprawls across my bed reaching for my notebook.

“Really, you want to read it?”

She snatches the book from my hands and begins reading. She finishes and sighs.

“I told you, the worst project ever.”

“No, it’s good, you’ve just got to keep writing it.”

“Oh yeah, and what am going to write with that?” “ I don’t know that’s up to you.”

“Okay, Here I go.”

When people ask, “What did I do that was so great in life?” You can’t tell them “you did absolutely nothing that was of any importance.” You have to tell them that they were a good mother or a wonderful friend. You tell them that they changed the very structure of your life and how you see the world. And they will look at you like they didn’t do any of that, but when you look back you have to be the one who tells the truth of everything and says, “Yes, you did.” So that they see their life did amount to something.

The cereal crunches in my mouth, my notebook lying on the table in front of me.

“So, What do you want to do later?”

I shrug “ I don’t know, we could go to the library?”

“Sure, we could rent a movie when we’re there.” “ Okay, I need to get some stuff for my project anyway.”

Taya’s laugh fills the kitchen. “You still haven’t finished it!” “ No, it’s a lot harder than you think.” “ Well, I believe you can do it, so get busy, girl, and do it.” “ Okay, okay I’m doing it.”

It’s not about the things that they didn’t get to do, or the people left behind. It’s about what they did get to do.

“Ralia, honey, I need to tell you something” Dread sets in as I look on my mother’s face. She looks at me with sadness and waits for me to go to her. “Yeah, Mom what’s up?’

“Um, well you know that Taya does weekend yoga classes, and that she rides her bike there.” “ Yeah, what happened, did her bike get stolen or something?”

“Well, no, you see she got...hit.”

The blood drained from my head and I felt like I was going to faint. “ Is she okay-- we need to go see her, now.”

“Ralia, she got sent to the hospital.” My mom looks at me and I know Taya is gone. “She had massive internal bleeding and they couldn’t stop it.” I lean forward into my mom and tears start streaming down my face. My insides hurt more than they ever have and I am overcome with a feeling of denial, that it can’t be true. But, my mom wouldn’t lie to me, and that would be a horrible joke. My mom wraps her arms around me; she starts rocking me back and forth.

A few months have gone by and I find myself smiling every time I think of Taya or when I see Luke walking down the hallway. So, I guess that is what the answer is, the answer that the super computer could never have come up with. The answer to life is not success or a bunch of important accomplishments. The answer is to be remembered, as you want to be remembered……

In Living Color Skyler Bartz

Note To Self

By Daysha Dunn

John stood there and watched as Shelby’s counselor tried to snap her back into her normal mind frame, into reality again.

But with great effort and little validation to show, Shelby forgot who I or anyone else was. It was not the first time John had met Shelby.

Where was their love?

2 Untitled Shaylee McMullen

Mashup Harriet Norcross

Brake Check Kristin Boothe The brakes were slammed in the middle of nowhere.

“Get out of my car,” “No.” I didn’t feel the need to repeat myself again; my car was not going in motion until he left.

A loud slam of the door startled me, but the contact between him and the car definitely startled him.

Untitled Kayla Eckhardt

3 Untitled Kesandra Adams

Day at the Pier

By Jason Pierantoni

A beautiful day on a California Pier Roller coasters sped overhead, I raised a bottle of Coke to my lips, My grandpa and me on Paradise Pier, California Screamin', Ferris wheels, 3D glasses, darts, and rings, The beautiful afternoon, Amazing environment, and refreshing Coke, Relaxation, and family, That’s what vacation is really all about.

2 Untitled Kesandra Adams

1 Untitled Kesandra Adams

Untitled Shaye Davis

Untitled Kristine Silveira

Untitled Tucker Pasley

The Tree John Bitner

Tree of Love Courtland Howie

Our Love (Sonnet #1)

By April Watson

Our Love is cold toes wrapped warm in quilts.

Through breaths of frost we share soft memories, Of vague childhoods woven smug with silk, Embellishments of our well-worn stories.

Our Love is flushed kisses on chill cheeks, Heavy eyes spent from the sun in your grin.

Our Love is slapping life into numb feet, Goosebumps from cold fingers on peeking skin.

Our Love is bad timing and words that slip, They sit in the corner to forget that, We are tripping head first into the pit, But, Our Love is not weak and won’t fall flat.

Because Our Love is silly faults and all, Great battles may rage but we will stand tall.

+To Write a Horror Story+

By Steven Leete

When I write, I am an artist. When I write, I turn on some music, close my

eyes, and let everything just fade away. Sometimes I even meditate. I focus all my energy on the story. The room breaks away piece by piece like a crumbling building.

I see words flying all around me like birds. As I think, the words change and whisper, telling me what to write.

I start with the monster: I see a beast and I draw it to the best of my ability,

even as my mind drifts and twists the creature in my mind into a million other forms, taking a thousand shapes and colors. I always start with the antagonists, because they are the best part; they can be insane, hysterical, silent, loud-- anything I can think of.

Next, I do the landscape. Instantly, I am pulled to a beautiful sea of flowing,

shimmering color. As I begin to think, it changes. A heaven with floating, shining citadels and towers that reach the sky as the sunlight glimmers off of them. Or hell, with lakes of fire, trees made of the flesh and bones of lost souls, and black burnt towers, spires with hanging corpses. Maybe perhaps a dark forest of paranoia, where behind each tree waits a living nightmare just waiting to scream and send you into a delusion of horror and fear.

Then I think of the character. I see a thousand dark figures walking in the

dark. One of them stops and thinks for a moment. Maybe it’s a frightened little girl or boy, crying for mommy and daddy to come and open the presents under the Christmas tree. Or perhaps it’s a rich big wig with a fancy suit and tie talking to his wife on the phone while standing with his mistress in the street. They move on, and another stops in front of me. This time maybe it’s a serial rapist looking for his next victim. Or maybe even a politician contemplating a political debate.

Finally, I see the story play out in front of me. The character goes home

and has a feeling of unease as he pulls up, like he is being watched from the dark. He dismisses it as being tired from a long day at work, or one too many beers. He goes inside once again, getting that feeling on the back of his neck, the hairs standing up, that sixth sense that almost everyone seems to have. But this time it feels closer, more real than it was a minute ago, especially when he hears a noise from behind.

He turns to find nothing; he thinks he’s over reacting, that it was most likely

just a stray dog. Maybe sometimes he’s right; maybe the monster is already inside waiting for him, or maybe it’s all in his head. Whatever the reason, he believes that going inside will take some of that fear away, but it doesn’t. For some reason, when he goes inside, he feels worse. That feeling returns again, but its’ even closer than before, more real than it has ever been before.

As thoughts race through his head, his instincts take over-- maybe he grabs

something to defend himself with. Maybe he calls the police, but it’s too late for all that. He goes to investigate-- maybe it’s right around the corner, maybe it’s watching him from behind. It could even be a person hiding in the closet he overlooks, and as he passes, the intruder silently creeps out and quickly moves to a different room. Or maybe the character sees what he is afraid of and runs.

No matter what, it’s way too early for the main character to die. He hasn’t had

a chance to experience true insanity or fear, hysteria or nostalgia. He hasn’t even had a chance to feel remorse for something he may not even remember doing.

Finally, I end the story after a long chase or small glimpses and trying to

hide. The creature will find him, and I decide what he does. Does it kill him on the spot, does it wound him, and continue the fun for a little while? If I’m in a good mood, the character kills the creature or escapes, but he’s changed forever. When I do this, it can often help me write a later story about him or her.

I write horror because it has no actual concrete rules to follow. Sometimes I

even put something real into the story, like the main character is based off of someone I truly hate, or whom I believe needs just a bit of pain to teach them a lesson. Sometimes I put myself in as the antagonist.

I remember one story where I trapped a child in a blank book, and that the

only way for him to escape was to reach the end of the book alive and well. In this story, I would draw an obstacle like a puzzle, or a creature in a maze he must traverse.

The main character was based off of a bully in my old school, so I strung him along for quite a while. By the end he was in great pain, and begged for death. I don’t remember exactly what happened in the end, but I know that he suffered greatly.

Horror is my passion and my life. I have tried writing other genres but have never found happiness as I have with horror. +THE+ +END+

Rain Drops Skyler Bartz

Lol

By Chance Brauburger

“Omg, Josh totes likes you!”

“Lol, No he doesn’t I wud lke DYE OMG!!!!”

“He totes does!! He told me!!! :D”

“Well B*tch tell me what he said!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Ok gosh DON’T get your panties in a knot! He was like ‘I totally want to get in that.....

Hey aren’t you driving?”

“Yeah so wha...”

Flowing Through Life Courtney Stai

Duck

By Blake Szymczak “Duck!� she screamed as I walked into the office building.

I quickly dropped to the floor and ducked my head. But absolutely nothing happened.

She must have been talking to someone else. Third time today that had happened. How unusual.

I walked back outside and flapped my wings so I could get back home.

Cast of Characters Echo Fields

The Boy and the Dragon

By Alex Smart

Internally, he quaked in fear as he faced down a large, scaly black dragon. This was his punishment, handed down from the King himself.

“What have I done to deserve this?” Collin thought to himself, a glowing flame stoking inside the beast. This had started a day or two ago. He was at home working on a chemistry project. All was well until a beaker of water began to overflow, emitting a bright blue light. The next thing Collin knew, he was being roughly prodded awake.

“On your feet, boy! Move it!” A voice barked. Collin shakily stood and groggily looked around, his head throbbing. Slowly, everything came into view. A lot of people were clustered around him, including a few armed guards.

“Where am I?” Collin asked, still feeling like a knife was slicing into his head.

“What do you want from me?” Collin moaned, clearly not coming around fast enough.

“It’s not what we want, it’s what the King wants,” another guard answered. Before Collin could ask whom they meant, he was being herded off towards a distant castle. Inside the castle, Collin was whisked into the throne room.

“Do you know why you’re here, boy?” asked the King. At least Collin thought he was the king. By now he was fully awake.

“Collin… my name is Collin,” he whispered.

“Do you know why you’re here, Collin?” the King repeated.

“No.” “Using magic is against the law; that’s why you’re here.”

“Magic?” Collin thought to himself. “But, I didn’t--” After some arguing and rebuttal between the two of them, the King decreed that Collin would fight a dragon, without magic. Among his permissions was a room to stay in and use of the castle library.

“I may as well make the best of this,” Collin mumbled, taking a book off of a dusty shelf.

“No one has read that in ages,” somebody whispered. Collin was being watched!

“Who’s there?” he stammered.

“Just me.” Out stepped a girl, about Collin’s age. “I’m Alice.”

“The King sent you to watch me, didn’t he?” Collin gulped. Alice was mortified.

“No-- I’m here to help you,” Alice revealed. For several nights the two worked in secret. Alice was determined to help Collin survive his fight in some way or another. Although he was grateful for the help, Collin wasn’t entirely sure he could trust Alice.

nights.

“Why would you help me?” Collin yawned, unaccustomed to late

“Because my father doesn’t know what he’s doing,” the Princess replied. Their efforts continued only a few days more.

As a fire surged inside the dragon, Collin could only think one word: run.

Flames licked his clothes as he dodged the attack, gripping a sword, silently trying to will the dragon back. Swing! A deafening roar. Collin slowed, his legs aching from darting hither and thither and yon.

“This isn’t working,” he panted. “What can I do?” A shadow passed over his hiding spot. A low growl sounded in the deep, the end near. Run, swing and miss, thud! Collin was bowled over by the tail of his towering adversary.

“I’m finished!” He gasped, “There’s no way I can win!” Collin was trapped, sword out of reach. The dragon loomed overhead and lunged, only stopped by a blinding light.

“Your sword, quick!” Alice cried, hidden. Collin raced for his sword, a second wind coming. The dragon growled, encircling herself and her prey in a ring of flames.

“It’s now or never,” Collin whispered.

Slowly, Collin circled the beast, looking for an opening. As the dragon snapped at his arm, Collin rolled himself between her legs, springing forward. Scales cracked with a sickening sound, and there was the feel of his sword plunging into pulsing muscle, a dying roar. The nightmare was over.

As the flames died, Alice rushed Collin with an embrace he numbly returned, relieved to be alive.

Man is in the Forest Tiana Saunders

Colors of Emotion Tyler Cody

An Unexpected Mission

By Jason Pierantoni The man entered the brightly lit room. Computer screens flickered, and fingers flew across keyboards. The man walked across the room, his confident presence commanding attention. A few people looked up briefly from their screens. The man continued to walk until he came to a glass door at the opposite side of the room. He paused; there was a click, and the door slid open. He strode into the room. Inside, there was a table-- two men were sitting there. Projected on the far wall was a bowl of tomato soup.

Both men stood up to shake his hand.

“Thank you for meeting us, Jack,” said a short, plump man with glasses. “This is the director of the CIA.” Jack shook the hand of a tall thin man.

“You are our best man,” the director said. “Which is why you are here. The president is dead; he was poisoned-by a soup.”

To Peter/Wendy

By Harley Jackson

I never thought, And I never dreamed, That in this wonderful place, I would be.

When I picked up that script, And walked on stage with shaking hands, I never dared to think that they would choose me, That you would choose me.

You know who you are, And I hope you both are reading this, Because you’ve given me a start, And it’s meant the world to me besides, That it’s me you decided, A Mermaid to be.

Now I rise each day, And greet the sun, Knowing at the end, We’ve just begun.

We straggle together, Ladies shedding pixie dust, Boys, lost, three tall and one small, Two Victorians standing proud, A flower child and a fish of the sea, Two sinister pirates plotting away, Pursuing a flying, runaway boy, And his new mother, so full of stories

and tea.

I fell for the script, Then the people, too, The magic brought to life, A classic breathing new.

Under watchful eyes, From gods above, We feasted on ideas, And enchanted out lines, We opened our mouths and light spilled forth, Dusting chills on spines, And coaxing tears from eyes.

We make a family, The likes of which I’ve never had, A bond unlike any other, Forged in old magic of trodden boards, That have seen a hundred openings, Felt the steps of monologues and lives, And accumulated a tsunami of tears from closing nights.

I know I shall add, Not only to the monologues, But to the tears as well, Be a part of the layers of paint, That mark out the acts, Of plays long past, And those yet to come.

Sunrise Jason Pierantoni

First

By Blake Szymczak

Dayscape Kristin Boothe

He was always the first.

First in line.

First to eat.

First to go to the bathroom.

First to wake up, and, finally, the first to go to bed.

But there was a reason he was first.

It was really because he was last. Or, more specifically, he was the last man still alive.

West Ender Tiana Saunders

Phantom in the Picture

By Echo Fields That laughter and that smile is completely oblivious, There is a secret in this image-- a secret dark and deep.

Like thumbprints pressed into cookie dough, It lies there obvious yet overlooked.

Those happy expressions would be replaced with fear, If they looked at the picture to see Open your eyes- we beg, for there may be danger.

Open your ears- we beg, listen even closer.

Open your nose-we beg, the reek of ammonia becomes major.

Open your door-we beg, and leave quickly for there’s a poacher.

Unseen in that photograph is a terror plain in sight.

Already they have known their house was strange.

Despite the worries they’d dismissed as paranoia, They smiled carelessly- and it joined in their picture.

Not of this world is this ghastly ghostly being, Staring at the camera blankly with a crooked smile with gleaming teeth.

Open your eyes-we plea, can’t you see the phantom in the frame?

Open your ears- we plea, can’t you hear the whispers in the night?

Open your nose- we plea, can’t you smell something evil wants you to rot?

Open your door- we plea, can’t you run before it gets you, for it might?

In the picture was a group careless as can be.

Within the image lurked the monster that watched them breathe and sleep.

From the photograph is not where he had come.

Yet this illustration shows they did not heed the warnings, and the terrible thing— Made them disappear.

They are now nothing but a photograph, with the figure in the back.

They are now nothing but the victims of the transparent monster in the snap.

They are now nothing but more souls who refused to read the signs.

If you see him in your pictures, you must run and hide.

Up and Down

By Isabella Ellis

Up and down, up and down, That’s how the rollercoaster goes.

Still the answer took long to be found, Having flown the way the wind goes

Now, though, I’ve grown And no longer do I fear How friends will react, no, I’ve sworn To only let the compassionate near.

The relationship is still tense, Between Autism and I, But I have some sense And it may just help me fly.

It was an enigma for, oh, so long, Autism, the little bug.

Making me feel like something was wrong, Needed to be swept under the rug.

Still, I find it easy to fall.

It gives me grief, time from time It doesn’t affect me at all, Autism’s just a mountain to climb.

Wasn’t as bad as I had thought, though.

No, it was just a part of me.

Still, at times, it made me want to throw A fit, screaming, “Let me be!”

I don’t know how long it will take, How much I’ll suffer from wearand-tear.

No matter how long it will take, I’ll come out stronger, I swear.

The Good Fight Chance Brauburger

Pathway Shanaea VanderPol

Ocean Town

By Shanaea VanderPol She had never imagined her destiny to transpire in such a way. Just a trip to the sunny side changed everything.

Colorado had been the array of her future she always thought about, but this one trip to the sand changed everything.

Although she was a thousand miles from it, she was home.

Light & Sound Chance Brauburger

Sunburn

By April Watson

I sit naked peeling away my skin.

As I shed the sunburn of you, I relent my sins.

My tears sizzle like acid down my blistered cheeks.

I strip away your lies, flaking and pink.

At first you felt warm and honest on my face, slowly stealing away what’s sane.

My faith in myself began to falter, my mind preparing to be a sacrifice on the alter, Of what used to be self restraint.

You are the master of shame, spreading poison throughout the haze.

I will wash my skin pure and accept no more of your petty lures.

You may again spoil me with tainted love or the lack there of, Until I find myself once more lost in remorse, But I will not forget the feel of soft skin left in your place and what is true and good in this rabbit’s race.

Distance is Too Often a Barrier for Love

By Skyler Bartz Every night when the sun sets and The shroud of night encompasses all the land, It takes a certain joy along with it beyond the horizon.

For when I lay in my bed on the warm summer night, The sheets strewn much like the clothes on my floor, I lay with regrets in my lap, Regrets that my head rests on a pillow of down and cloth Instead of laying on your lap, Your hands forging a path through my hair.

I realized then that I’m hopeless.

I once said to myself, “you will turn down all the riches of the world, every son of the flesh and every joy on this planet if it means that another is happy in your place.”

For that reason, I can only hope that on the stride Of your fingertips upon my scalp you can share with me yours.

That you can smile your gorgeous smile And for a fleeting moment make the people Stricken cold in the night believe that the sun May have accidentally left his wallet in the nightstand, And has returned with its joy, spread through Invisible beams of light making shadows on the grass Even if it isn’t always greener where it shines.

There will always be a greener pasture for grazing, A field that masks itself as a plane of thought and Beyond that pasture so brilliantly green that all other color Loses their meaning there.

But if man can invent the wheel, Can invent a road, on which those wheels can travel, So that when the night finally falls upon the earth: I can toss my regrets away from me much like my clothes On a warm summer night And I can feel your fingers weaving their ways through my hair As I lay my head in your lap.

Alice’s Flower Tyler Cody

An Unusual Creature

By Tiana Saunders

It was mid-afternoon and a girl with long, brown, flowing hair and bright, purple eyes walked along the damp streets of New York. Rain fell around her at a heavy rate, yet she remained completely dry. Her hands remained tucked inside the pockets of her heavy black coat, for she didn’t want to risk anyone seeing their deformity. A voice in the back of her mind spoke out, saying that she was nearing her destin sation. She didn’t possibly understand how she was supposed to figure out which building it was, for she was in New York City, home of skyscrapers. The only information that she had been giving was that the building she needed to enter was tall, brown, and had a lot of windows. She internally groaned at the thought of having to try every building to find the right one. But, as she thought about her upcoming struggle, a weird feeling stirred inside of her, and before she knew it, her feet had come to a halt and she found herself face-to-face with an eerie looking building.

“This is the one,” the voice inside of her head whispered, sending a chill crawling up her spine. Her delicate and long fingers fiddled with the cold, wiry key that would allow her entrance into the towering building. With a quick spin of her head to make sure no one was paying any special attention to her, the girl swiftly pulled the key out of her pocket. It glinted in the sun, blinding her vision for a mere moment.

Without any more hesitation, the girl walked up to the building. An abnormally large lock hung around the gate to the building, permitting anyone’s entrance unless they held the special key. The girl’s eyes traveled back and forth between the lock and the key before she finally inserted the key into the lock. It seemed to fit like a puzzle piece, and with a loud click, the gate swung open.

The girl wasted no time in stepping through the rusting and crickety gate. She jumped as the gate instantly closed behind her and locked into place. Goosebumps rose on her skin as fear simmered within her body. With small steps, the girl approached the entrance of the building where she was instantly taken hold. A shriek of terror erupted from her as large, burly men all reached out for her, trying to get their hands on her unusual self.

The girl, having been taught for years how to defend herself, retaliated. Her abnormally long legs kicked out and spun round, knocking half of the attackers to the floor. Groans of pain emanated from them, causing a content smile to tug at the girl’s lips. With her clawlike hands, the girl sprung at the other four men who surrounded her. With one hand, she clawed at a man’s face, and with the other, she clawed at a man’s genitals. They both went down in a flash, leaving the last two men standing speechless and terrified.

The girl smirked as fear danced in their eyes, for she lived for these types of adventures. Without any more hesitation, the girl bared her sharp teeth, causing the men to cower in fear. With one last growl, the girl kicked and punched at the two men, instantly sending them to the floor. A maniacal laugh escaped her lips as she wiped her hands together, smiling triumphantly at her accomplishment.

Now, all she had left was to get what she came for, the secret.

1 Untitled Shaylee McMullen

Unplanned Parenthood

By Daysha Dunn

Her lack of discipline and attentiveness makes me feel...

Prematurely made to be fit for a mommy.

The unbeatable gift of life, My fair share of lessons and mistakes provide some sort of concrete foundation, that my mother can more than occasionally rest upon whenever she’s no longer amused.

Without mother, there is no nature.

But here, that is not the case.

I like to look at it as if the glass were half full: Love unconditionally, show unlimited affection and have the upper hand when appropriate.

The lesson is learned when the mistake is witnessed.

To watch someone fail and try again: remarkable teacher.

My mother has taught me the good, the bad, but primarily what NOT to do.

I love my mother. She is my best and my worst teacher.

But for now, I leave this incomplete, for the myth of forever staying young drowns me.

Sunset in the Shadows Meghan Bower

Untitled Jordan Danielson

Absent Love Courtland Howie

Stuck on Repeat

By Blake Szymczak

Gerald was dead. He had figured this out moments ago when scrolling through Facebook. He had found pictures of his funeral, and then a link to his obituary where his mother described him as a rotten kid. How typical, he thought to himself, even after his death his mother still hated him. And then, the day he died started coming back to him.

It was a normal Saturday. He had woken up quite early due to an odd squeaking sound coming from his backyard; but, other than that, it had been like every other Saturday in Anchorage. He had gotten some breakfast and decided to go for a walk. He took a path down into the forest next to his house. Halfway down the path, he started getting a strange feeling, as though he was not the only one on the path. Actually, it was more than that; it felt as though he was being watched. He decided to turn around and head back home. But it was far too late for that. A wrinkled hand grabbed his foot. He looked down and saw a large, sharpened spoon pointed at his face. And this was the last thing he remembered.

Being dead really wasn’t that bad, though. I mean, you look different.

But you are dead; you should look different. Gerald looked at Facebook again and then realized something a bit odd; he was logged in as Ivan Goodwin.

Huh. “Wait,” he thought to himself, “am I really dead?” And then he remembered. Of course he wasn’t dead. His name was Ivan and he was very late for curfew. He needed to get home.

Ivan sprinted out of the mall and got on the path back to his house.

“No, no”, he thought to himself, “I don’t have time for this. I need to take a shortcut.” A dull squeaking sound momentarily rattled his brain. Ivan drifted off the path. He ran through knee high weeds, jumped over barbed wire fences, and then, without looking, ran off a 10-foot cliff. Ivan landed straight on his back on a railway underneath the cliff. He couldn’t move his arms or legs.

Ivan heard a train whistle in the distance.

Ivan woke up in a woman’s body. “Oh damn”, he thought, “it’s happening again.” But, as soon as he remembered everything it quickly faded away. And then he remembered who he was. Or, more accurately who she was. Her name was Elisa Ramon and she was driving in heavy traffic. A squeaking sound had been bothering her all day, but it faded as soon as she got into her car. But that no longer concerned her as it was beginning to snow. Actually, it was beginning to dump snow and it was honestly frightening. It hadn’t snowed in L.A. in over 5 years and it couldn’t come at a worse time. Rush hour.

Elisa drove slowly, but noticed something odd in the distance-a woman standing off the side of the road wearing shorts and a t-shirt.

“I need to help her,” she thought, “that lady is going to freeze.” Elisa pulled the car over and picked up the stranger. The woman entered the car and explained where she needed to go. Elisa pulled back onto the road and turned to ask the woman her name, but, instead of looking at the woman, she was looking straight into the barrel of a handgun the woman had been concealing the whole time.

Untitled Madison Rust

Untitled Leslie Podjun

Hope Deficit Disorder Echo Fields

The end.