2023-2024
EachyeartheSchoolofSTEAMhoststheGunardB.CarlsonCreativeWriting andVisualArtsContest,acompetitionopentoallSaintFrancisUniversity undergraduates.Studentsmaysubmitwrittenentriesofupto3,000wordsin thefollowingcategories:(1)fiction,(2)creativenonfiction,includingpersonal narrativesandmemoirs,(3)essaywriting,and(4)poetry,withaminimumof fivepoemspersubmission.Studentsalsomaysubmitworksofvisualart,such asphotographs,sculptures,paintings(oil,water,andacrylic),sketches,and collages.
TheDepartmentofEnglishandWorldLanguagesalsohoststheannualFather CallanPoetryContest,whichaimstocelebrateFatherThomasCallan'sloveof literature. Thiscontest,fundedbythegenerousdonationsofSFUalumnusand publishedpoetPaulMartin,isopentoallundergraduateandgraduate students.
Thewinnersandhonorablementionsofeachcontestarepublishedinour annualeditionof Tapestries,SaintFrancisUniversity’sliteraryandvisualarts magazine. Thiseditionincludesthewinningentriesandhonorablementions ofour2023-2024contests.Opinionsexpressedinthismagazinedonotreflect thoseofthecontestjudgesandmagazineeditororthoseoftheSaintFrancis Universitycommunity.
For more information about the Gunard B. Carlson and Fr. Callan Poetry contests, please contact:
Dr.BrennanThomas
DepartmentofEnglishandWorldLanguages
SaintFrancisUniversity 117EvergreenDrive
P.O.Box600
Loretto,Pennsylvania15940
Email:bthomas@francis.edu
Phone:(814)471-1111
Weaving the Threads of Creativity and Innovation Faculty Editor
BrennanThomas
Cover Artwork byAnnahLovette
“TheBeastofGevaudan”(1stPlaceWinnerintheVisualArtsCategory)
Copyright©2025bySaintFrancisUniversity
Acknowledgements ThesponsorshipandcoordinationoftheGunardB.CarlsonandFr.CallanPoetrycontests andthesubsequentpublicationof Tapestries wouldnotbepossiblewithoutthefollowing individuals:
Mrs.BarbaraC.Travagliniandherson,FrederickC.Travaglini,directorsoftheGunardB. CarlsonMemorialFoundation,fortheircontinuedfundingandsupportofthiscontestto recognizethetalentsofouruniversity’swritersandartists;
Mr.PaulMartin,forhisestablishmentandsponsorshipoftheFr.CallanPoetryContest,for whichhealsojudgedallsubmittedentries;
Drs.PatrickFarabaugh,TheresaHorner,ArtRemillard,andKentTonkin,whojudgedall writingsubmissionsfortheGunardB.CarlsonContestandselectedthewinnersand honorablementionrecipientsinthiscategory;
Ms.CarolStoltz,forjudgingallvisualartentriesfortheGunardB.CarlsonContestand selectingtheoverallvisualartswinnerandhonorablementionrecipients;
Ms.SamanthaGorman,Ms.ColleenKrug,Ms.MelitaO’Donnell,andMs.BarbaraPlazek,for carefullyoverseeingthatallwinnersandhonorablementionrecipientsreceivedtheir awardcertificatesandotherprizes;
Ms.MarieYoungandothermembersoftheMarketingandITteams,whopublishedour magazineontheuniversity’ssiteforallstudents,faculty,andstafftoaccess;and
AllstudentswhosubmittedwritingandartworkfortheGunardB.CarlsonandFr.Callan Poetrycontests. Yourstories,poetry,essays,creativenonfictionpieces,andvisual creationswereimaginative,incisive,andinspiring.
Gunard B. Carlson Writing Judges Dr. Patrick Farabaugh, ProfessorofCommunicationArts
Dr. Theresa Horner,AssistantProfessorofPublicHealth
Dr. Art Remillard, ProfessorofPhilosophy
Dr. Kent Tonkin, AssociateProfessorofBusiness
Gunard B. Carlson Visual Arts Judge Ms. Carol Stoltz, HeadofLibraryAccessServices
Fr. Callan Poetry Judge Mr. Paul Martin, SFUAlumnusandPublishedPoet
Contest Coordinator & Magazine Editor Dr. Brennan Thomas, ProfessorofEnglishandWritingCenterDirector
Effectiveness of Telemedicine: A Quick Call to the Doctor byPaigeKistner
Awakenedbyastuffynose,congestedchest,andbadheadache,myroommate, Gracie,andIlookateachotherdolefully.Imakeaquickcalltothedoctor,explainmy symptoms,andIamprescribedmedicationforasinusinfection,whichIpickupina matteroftwohours.Gracie,withmirroringsymptoms,spendsanhouronholdtomakean appointment,dragsherselfoutofbedtogotothedoctor’soffice,waitsadreadfulhour beforeevenbeingseenbythepractitioner,andaftermakingasecondtrip,eventually picksupthesameprescriptionthenextday.Theemergenceoftelemedicinewithinthe pastfewyearshasdevelopedmanyopportunitiesandroomforadvancementinthe medicalfield.Skepticsworryoverthelevelofaccuracythatthismethodofhealthcare holds;however,withsupportfrommedicalprofessionals,patients,andhospitals,thereis addedvaliditytotheuseofnewtechnologyandtelecommunicationwithinhealthcare. Healthcareprovidersshouldretaintelemedicinepracticesinhealthcaresystemsasaway toreducethespreadofinfectiousillnesses,giveaccesstospecialistswhowerebefore limitedbygeographicallocation,andadvocateforthesafetyofthoseaffectedbychronic illnessesand/orthosewhoareimmunocompromised.AsGracieandIlayinourbeds awaitingrelieffromthecongestion,itisobviouswhohadthemoreconvenientjourneyto getthehealthcaresheneeded.
WheneverIsitinthewaitingroomofmydoctor’soffice,Ioftenfindmyselfholding mybreathtoavoidtheinhalationofthecloudofgermsthatpollutestheair.When someonewalksthroughthedoctor’sofficedoors,snifflingandreadytobetestedforthe flu,Iquicklycovermymouthduetothefactthateveryoneintheoffice,includingmyself, hasnowbeenexposedtotheflu.Havingtheoptiontobeseenvirtuallydecreasesthisrisk ofcontagionintheoffice.“Normally,doctorsandotherhealthcareproviderscarefortheir patientsinpersonatafacilitysuchasamedicaloffice,clinic,orhospital,”explainseditor of Harvard Women’s Health Watch StephanieWatson,“butthankstocomputers, smartphones,andothernewdigitaltechnologies,medicalprofessionalscannowdiagnose, treat,andoverseetheirpatients’carevirtually”(“Telehealth”).Theuseofthistechnology spikeddrasticallyduringtheCOVID-19pandemic.Patientswererightfullyunwillingto enteradoctor’soffice,terrifiedbythethoughtofcomingincontactwiththevirusthatwas hospitalizingsomany.MaureenPolakowski,afamilynursepractitioner,explainsher experiencewithtelemedicineduringthistime,stating,“Atthestartofthe[COVID-19] pandemicin2020,wespentatleastonemonthexclusivelydoingtelehealthvisits” (Personalinterview).Inherexperience,merelyhavingtheoptionofthistechnology
benefitedmanyindividualsandhealthcareprovidersduringthepandemicandisstill extremelyusefultoday.Oftentimes,likeGracie’sandmyexperience,thereasonfora doctorvisitisforsomethingsimplesuchasasinusinfectionthatthedoctorsolely evaluatessymptomsandmakesadiagnosisbasedoffofwhatthepatientistellingthem. Althoughsomequestiontheaccuracyofremoteevaluationanddiagnosis,thiscanjustas easilyandaccuratelybedoneoveravideocallbetweentheproviderandpatient.The accuracyofdiagnosingpatientsthroughtelemedicineisexplainedby Johns Hopkins Medicine contributorandphysicianJohnHasselfeld.Hebelievesthereisanincreasein accuracyindiagnosingduetotheavailabilityofbetterassessmentofthepatient’shome environment,whichbecomesusefulwhenmakingadiagnosis(“Benefits”).Therefore,the useoftelemedicineinhealthcarehasseveralbenefits,includingsaferandmore convenientcareforbothpatientsandhealthcareproviders.Icouldseetheconveniences ofthiscareafterbeingdiagnosedoverthephoneforthesinusinfectionGracieandIboth experienced.
Beyondtheconveniencesandsafetyofthesetechnologies,thereistheadvantageof qualityofcarethrougheliminatinggeographicalbarriersthatonceexistedandan increaseinavailabilityofspecialists.Individualshavetheabilitytoaccessspecialistsand doctorspracticallyworldwidethroughtheinternet.Thistechnologyleadstomore knowledge,bettercare,andgreateraccessibility.GracieandI,goingtoschoolinLoretto, PA,andsecludedfromaccesstoanearbyurgentcareordoctor’soffice,wereprohibited fromeasyaccessibilityofcare—thereasonGraciedidnotgetaprescriptionuntilthenext day.Technology,eveninhealthcare,isusedtoconnecttheworld;furthermore,ifapatient livesinamoreremoteorruralareawithlittlecontacttoskilledspecialists,thatindividual canstillcontactanumberofspecialistsviatelecommunications.Asitcanbeinferred, ruralhealthisalargeproblem,asmostpeoplewholiveinlessactiveareashaverestricted accesstomedicalprofessionals.Inherarticle“RuralHealth”for CQ Researcher,Barbara Manteladvocatesfortheuseoftelemedicineinruralareasbystating,“Expertswidely agreeonwhatmanyruralcommunitiesneed:greateraccesstobroadbandand telemedicine”(3).Withtelemedicine,thereisfarmorecarethatcanbeprovidedandan increaseinbetterhealthforruralcommunities.Greateraccessibilitydoesnotjustreferto geographicalbarriers,butalsotheaccessibilitytospecialistsindifferentareas.Doctors whoareskilledintheircraftandwidelyrecognizedcanbebetteraccessedthrough telemedicine.RifatLatifi,authorof Telemedicine for Trauma, Emergencies, and Disaster Management, explainsthewidespreadeffectsoftheimplementationoftelemedicinein traumaandemergencymedicine:
Byadoptingteletrauma,wewillenhancethesurgicalskillsofthoselessexperienced andenablethemtoperformcomplexsurgicaltechniques,popularizeadvanced surgicalprocedures,createuniformsurgicalstandards,andbringexpertiseto developingcountries.Thiswillgreatlyreduceandminimizepotentialsurgical errorsandprovidetimelycareinthemostaustereconditions.(Latifixxii)
Theimportanceoftelemedicineisclearwhenitisunderstoodhowmanyfieldsofstudy thisevolvingtechnologypertainsto.Telemedicinegoesbeyondjustfamilymedicineand canbeexpandedtobeingusedinemergencyandoperatingrooms.Thethoughtofhaving nosurgeonintheroommaymakeindividualsapprehensivebymerelypicturing themselveslyingintheERwhilebeingadministeredcarethroughtelecommunications; however,manytimes,specialistsavailablethroughtelemedicinearefarmoreskilledthan thosephysicallyinthehospitalandcanprovidebettercare.CriticalcarespecialistAtif Zeeshan,whohadinitialspeculationoftheuseoftelemedicine,showshisnewsupportof telemedicineintheICUandisquotedassaying,“Therehavebeencaseswhereliveswere savedwitheCareintervention”(qtd.inRubin).Furthermore,theimplementationof telemedicinegreatlybroadensthecapabilitiesofaccessiblehealthcaretomany.Where geographicalisolationandlackofspecialistsonceactedasbarrierstobetterhealthcare, telemedicinehasopenedupnewdoorsandledtobetterwidespreadcare.Without telemedicine,Iwouldhavebeenwaitingdaystoaccessadoctorneartheuniversity,just asGraciehad.
Apartfromthesafetyandconveniencesoftelemedicineandthegreateravailability tohealthcare,telemedicineservesasawaytoprotectthosechronicallyillor immunocompromised.Amajorityofthetime,themostcommonvisitorsinmedicaloffices arethosegettingtreatmentforlong-termorchronicillnesses.Forexample,chronicallyill patientscansufferfromillnessessuchascancer,cysticfibrosis,ALS,anddiabetes.The commonvisitsthesepatientsundergoputthematahigherriskforotherhealth complicationswiththeexposuretoothersintheoffice.“Certaintypesofclinical encountersmaybebettersuitedforthetelemedicineplatform….Visitsregardingfollowupforpatients’chronicconditionssuchasdiabetesorhighbloodpressurewiththeir establishedprimarycarephysicianmaybeconductedremotelywithlesschanceofclinical errorcomparedwithavisitinvolvinganunknownpatient-cliniciandyadwithacute symptoms(i.e.,shortnessofbreathorchestpain),”explainsJoelWillis,doctorand contributorto The American Journal of Medicine (1102).AsexplainedbyWillis,there couldberoomforerrorinthediagnosisofillnessesthroughthismethodofevaluation; however,ifbeingusedtocheckuponchronicallyillpatients,itprovestobeveryuseful andwithlittleroomforerror.Whenchronicallyillpatientsareinfectedwithwhatseem likecommonillnessestomost,suchasthesinusinfectionthataffectedmyroommateand me,itisfarmoredetrimentaltothehealthofthechronicallyillratherthantosomeone suchasmyself.Immunocompromisedindividualshaveahardtimefightingoffcommon infectionsandoftensufferfarworsesymptomsandconsequencesthanmost.Protecting theimmunocompromisedissomethingLawrenceEron,aninfectiousdiseasespecialist, promotesbysuggestingtheimplementationoftelemedicineasasubstituteforstaysin hospitalsandathomecare.Telemedicinecanbeusedasabridgebetweenreceivingcare fromphysiciansandlimitingtimeinhospitalsanddoctor’soffices.Suchvirtualvisits proveeffectiveinprotectingimmunocompromised,elderly,andcertainat-riskpatients. Doctorsareabletotreatandmonitorpatientsthataresickwithoutphysicallytouching
themandriskingnotonlythepatient’shealthbutothersintheareaaswell(Eron225). Personally,Ifeelasenseofresponsibilityinprotectingindividualswhoaremore susceptibletoillnesses,so,asafuturehealthcareprovider,Iseeahugeadvantagetothese technologiesbeingcontinued.
ThenexttimeGracieandIwakeupcongested,coughing,orwithaheadache,bothof uswillreachforourlaptopstoattendourtelemedicinevisitswiththedoctor.Afterthe initialuprisingoftelemedicineduringtheCOVID-19pandemic,medicalprofessionals, hospitals,andpatientssawthelargeopportunitythesetechnologiesheld.Thegerminfestedwaitingroomsofthedoctor’sofficeswillbecomelesscongested,morepeoplewill getthecaretheyneedwithaccesstoawiderrangeofspecialists,andthechronicallyill andimmunocompromisedwillbecomesafergettingtheirnecessarycare.Theriseof technologyanduseoftelemedicineinallformsofhealthcareshowpromiseforthefuture ofmedicine.
WorksCited
Eron,Lawrence.“Telemedicine:TheFutureofOutpatientTherapy?” Clinical Infectious Diseases,vol.51, Supplement2,15Sept.2010,pp.S224–30,www.jstor.org/stable/25742264.
Hasselfeld,Brian.W.“BenefitsofTelemedicine.” Johns Hopkins Medicine, www.hopkinsmedicine.org/health/treatment-tests-and-therapies/benefits-of-telemedicine.Accessed7 Mar.2022.
Latifi,Rifat. Telemedicine for Trauma, Emergencies, and Disaster Management,ArtechHouse,2010. ProQuest Ebook Central,ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/francis-ebooks/detail.action?docID=624055.
Mantel,Barbara.“RuralHealth.” CQ Researcher, 13Dec.2019,pp.1-18,library.cqpress.com/cqresearcher/ cqresearcher/cqresrre2019121300.
Polakowski,Maureen.Personalinterview.10Mar.2022.
Rubin,Rita.“CommunityHospitalsGetDistantBackup:TelemedicineCatchingonforCriticalCare,ThoughSome QuestionCost." The Baltimore Sun, 9Feb2014.
Watson,Stephanie.“Telehealth:TheAdvantagesandDisadvantages.” Harvard Health,12Oct.2020, www.health.harvard.edu/staying-healthy/telehealth-the-advantages-and-disadvantages.Accessed20Mar. 2022.
Willis,JoelSteven,etal.“EnsuringPrimaryCareDiagnosticQualityintheEraofTelemedicine.” The American Journal of Medicine,vol.134,no.9,Sept.2021,pp.1101–03,doi:10.1016/j.amjmed.2021.04.027.
Anthill: Chapter One byJakobSherman
“AndwhenUlysseswasbesetonhisjourney, Hemusthavethoughtitquiteapity, Thatinthenakedsightofevil, Hehadnoequal.”
—Excerptfromthe Journal of William Wendicott,1979
Inman’sdarkestages,thereisalwaysadeliverancetobehad—anactoffreewill that,evenwhilesteppedandspatuponbySatan’sfinestcreations,standsinsolublein testamenttotheperfectdesignoflife.
SosaysthePriestsandBishops;CardinalsandPopesandGodhimself—theoriginof allthoughtandWord.Andwhatismantotakeawayfromsuchclaims?Whatishetodo wheninthemidstofsufferingbuttoputhopeinwhatheseesaffronthim,evenwhenhe knowsthathopeintheworldisanactofassuredmisinvestment?
Andjustaseverysoulisfamiliarwiththedepthsoftheuncaringmind,soisevery readerknowledgeableofthenovel—athousandcrevicesfilledhalfwaywithdisconnected ramblings,allinvainattempt—hope—thatsomeonemightdescenddeepenoughtotouch thesewords.Nooneeverwill,ofcourse;andastheauthorletshisfinalscratchesofink dry,hedrawsawayasdistantastherest.
Icouldfillalibrarywithmeditations,butthatwouldnotbeastory.
Thetruestofstoriesstartwiththedreamsofman,fortheyaremererecollectionsof theafterlife.Andassuch,thestoryofmyyouthisonethatbeginsaftermydeath—a momentofmeditationwithoutprecognitionandsuicidewithoutinhibition.
Thatnight,Iimaginedmyselflyingonthesofaofmygrandfather’shome.Icouldfeel sovividlythescratchofthefabriconthebackofmyneck—thesmellofcigarsmokeand sawdustthatservedasmuchofanobjectofnostalgiaasitdidabrasion.
“Whydoyouliethere?”Iheardavoiceask.
“It’scomfortable,”Iansweredquietly.
“Isit?”
“No.Ititches.”
“Thensitup.”
“Ican’t.”
“Ofcourse,youcan.”
Icoveredmyeyeswiththelengthofmyarm.“Whoareyoutotellme?Youdon’t knowme.IfIweretositup,someonewouldjustknockmedown,again.”
“Who?Whowouldknockyoudown?”
“Ican’trecall.Ican’trecallmuchatall.”
“ShouldIremindyou?”
“Iwouldratheryounot.”
“Thenyourelishforgetting.Thenextstepisyourowndeath.Doyouwantthat?”
Irolledovertofacethebackcushionofthecouch.“Yes.Givemedeath.”
“Thatisnotofmynature;norisitofyours.Youwilllive.”
“Why?”
“Becauseyouwantto.”
Ibegantocryintothecushion—lightlyatfirst,thoughIsooncapitulatedtofurther griefs.
“I’mnotheretohurtyou,William.Iwillbebesideyou;nowuntiltheendofyour days.”
SuddenlyIwasnolongeronthecouch.Icouldfeelwindwhippingagainstmein coldlashes,rainheavinguponmefromagrayskybacklitbythemoon’sradiance.Iwas standinginplaceofwhatmighthavebeenascarecrow—aloneinawheatfieldunderlaid withmud,soontobescabbedoverwiththerisingofthesun.Andyetinthepresent absenceofthesun,itwasbutamonochromaticworld.Theonlylightbesidesthatofthe moonandstarscamefromaradiotower—milesawayandseveralhundredfeetstretched andsilhouettedacrossthesky.Inperfectlytimedpatterns,itsscarletlightswouldblink theirhues.Theylookedpairsofneoneyes—industrious,electricaleyesoftheallperceiving,never-seeingwitnesstosuffering.
Iwasn’tsurewhyIwasthere,andsoIstayedstill,foolishlyso,asifsomeonecared enoughtocomeandtellmetomove.Soon,Ilostthefeelinginmyfingers.Thenso,too,my toesgrewnumb,andIcouldstandnolonger.Iwasawakenedbymyfall.
Saywhatyouwillaboutthenatureofdreams,butwhenIawoke,Iwasstillcrying.It wasdarkinmyroom,andasIcametoknowmyownconsciousness,Iglancedoveratmy bedsideclockandrealizeditwasanewday—thelastofdays,infact.
Hourslater,IwasstandingontheplatformofBaltimore’sPennstation,my backpackwrappedaroundmyshoulderandthehandleoftwosuitcasestightlyboundin eitherofmypalms.ItwasnearingtheendofAugust—justcoolenoughsothatIcould wearasweaterwithoutbeingchastisedbymanornature.
“Callmewhenyougetthechance,”Maisiesaid.“You’llbebackforThanksgiving, won’tyou?”
“Shouldbe.”Icouldhearthetraincomingaroundthebend,andsoIknewIonlyhad aminuteortwoleft.Iscratchedattheendofmyeyebrowinahabitbornofmyinfantile anxiety.
“I’llmissyou,”Maisiesaid.
“We’ll missyou,”mygrandfathercorrected.
“Iknow,”Isaid.“I’llmissyouguys,too.”Asthetrainpeeledaroundthecorner, regularcommutersbegantogathertheirthingsfortheride.Mygrandfatherstepped forwardandwrappedhisarmsaroundme,cradlingmyheadintotheshoulderofhis jacket.Itwasunlikehim,inmostrespects.Hewasamanwhovaluedhissolitude—Ihad alwaysprescribedtheoriginofsuchcharacteristicstohischildhood,orperhapshiscareer inthecarpenters’union—perhapssuchqualitiesarecontractedbyanyonewholivesin Baltimorelongenough.
“Staysafe,”hesaid.Thenhepaused,asthoughanywordheldtheriskofcatching fire.“I’llbeprayingforyou.”Thenhepulledawayfrommeandadjustedtheendofhistie.
Thetrain’sbrakeshissedaswindbreathedintothefreshvacuum.Doorsopenedand passengersshuffledshoulder-boundintothecabins.Itwasstillearlyinthemorning,and yetitfeltliketheendofdays.Isupposeitwas,inasense.ThoughIdidnotknowitthen, onecanscarcelyreturnhomeoncethey’veleft.Youcanphysicallyoccupythesamespace, ofcourse,buttherewillbenaughtawaitingyourarrival.
“I’llseeyoutwosoonenough,”Isaid.Andwiththepartingsympathiesoftwosmiles, Irolledmysuitcasesontothetrain.Therewasawindowseatwaitingforme,andafter retiringmyluggagetotheircompartments,Ireachedformyticket.ThepocketinwhichI hadthoughtitpresentwasempty,aswastheopposite,andsoonIbegantopanic.Just beforeIwasabouttogetup,Maisiesteppedintothecar.Sheslippedpasttheother passengersuntilshewasleaningoverme.
“Youdroppedthis,”shesmirked,andpulledaticketfromhercoatpocket.
“DidI?”
Maisielookedbackforamomenttoallthecommutersfindingtheirseats,andthen oncemoretome.Shehadrosycheeks,andasmallnosethatwouldscrunchwhenevershe smiled.Thenshebentover,laidherheadonmyshoulder,andwrappedherarmsabout myneck.
“Staysafedownthere,”shesaidmuffledintomysweater.“I’llbewaitingforyou.”
Irestedahandonthebackofherhead.“AndI’llbethinkingofyou.”
Thensheliftedherhead,kissedmeonthecheek,andturnedbackforthedoors.For amoment,Iwasstill.ThenIfoundthecouragetoleanoverthebackofmyseat.
“Maisie!”Icalled. Sheturned.
“LookafterGrandfather.”
Sheunderstood.Morethanthat,sheprescribedpassiontoherunderstanding. Watchingherexitthetrainwasthusaneclecticexperience—assorrowingasitwas comfortingandwiseasitwasstunted.
Iusedtotakegreatpleasureinridingthetrain.Ienjoyeddrivingwellenough,but willingyourselfdownaroadofscabbytarishardlythesameasbeingledbythecurveofa railorbeingrockedbytheswayofthecabin.Itwasinfantilizing,dependent.Iwashalfway asleepwhensomeonetooktheseatnexttome.
Hewasayoungman—afewyearsolderthanmeperhaps,withlongbrownhairand aleatherjacketoverturtleneck.Hehadabackpackinhislapandwasbentovertheseat lookingbackdowntheaisle.
“Sorry,”hesaid.Ididn’tknowhewasspeakingtomeuntilheturnedbackaround. “Themanbesidemewassick,Ithink.Ican’triskacoldrightbeforeclasses.”
“Areyouincollege?”Iasked.
Henodded.“SenioratGeorgetown.”Hereachedouthishand.“Myname’sElliot.”
“William,”Isaid.“It’snicetomeetyou.”Hehadafirmshake.
“Whereareyouheaded,William?”
Icouldn’thelpbutsmile.“Georgetown.”
“Oh?”
“I’maFreshman.”
Elliotsmiled.“Oddchance,huh?It’sraretofindsomeoneelsefromBaltimore.I’m fromButcher’sHill,you?”
“BoltonHill.”
“Whichpart?”
“Justbythepark.”
“Areyourparentsrich?”
Ithoughtthatanoddquestiontobeposedintheinfancyofarelationship,letalone thatofaconversation.“Somethinglikethat,”Ianswered.
Thenhelaughed.Whenhewasfinished,hisfacesettledonanaggravated,depressed riddleofcontortions.“Doyoulovethem?”
Foronce,Ithoughtmyselfluckytobeinvalidatedbysuchtopics.“Ilivewithmy grandfather.”
Elliotnoddedinslowmotionsbeforepullingapackofchewinggumfromhisjacket. “Doyouwantapiece?”
“No,thankyou.”
Heshruggedandbeganchewing.“Whatwillyoubestudying?”
Irecognizedthenthedynamismofhischaracter.Andsosuddenlyhewas understandabletome—amanfittedinanarchetypebefittingofallnaturalforces. “English.”
“Doyoureadmuch?”
“Some.”
Elliotwentdigginginhisbackpackandshowedmehiscollection.“Nietzche,”he began.“Kafka;OscarWilde;Dostoevsky;Melville.Whatdoyouthink?”
“Whichabout?”
“Allofthem—anyofthem.”
Intruth,Ionlyknewhalfofthosenames.Mostly,Iderivedmyliteraryknowledge frommyownwritings’trialsanderrors—theerrorsofwhichIcametoknowthrough Maisie’spalette.
“I’veheardgoodthingsofMelville,”Isaid.“Moby Dick,right?”
“Sure.Haveyouread‘ThePiazza’?”
“No.”
“Well,yououghtto.It’snotsomuchthesubstanceasitistheflourishings.That’s realart,too,youknow?Noteverythinghastobesomesortofexploration.”
“Well—”
“Maybeyoudon’tagree.Maybeyouthinkartoughttogiveyousomethingtotake away.Youwantahaircut,notjustamirror.”
Ididn’tknowwhattosay.Elliotdidn’tmind—hefilledtheairallthesame.“I’m studyingarchitecture.Ineverwantedto,butit’smyfather’sbusiness,soIsupposeI shouldbethankful.It’smostlymathematics,butItrytoinjectsomeart.”
AsElliotkepttalking,hiswordsseemedtodryoutintothehumoftherestofthe train.Ifeltsuddenlyuncomfortable—thesamediscomfortonecontractswhenwakingup inthebowelsofanunfamiliarhome.JustthenthetrainpulledoutofBaltimoreproperand intotheendlesssprawloffarmsandsuburbsthatmadeupthestretchedligamentsofthe Northeastcorridor.ItwasthenthatIrealizedIwasn’thome.Itwassickening.
“Lookupthere,”Elliotsaid,andpointedoutthewindow.“Doyouseethem?”The trainwasjustabouttopassintothedarkofatunnel,andonthecurveoftheoverpass,I couldseepaintedingrayandgoldasetofeyes.
TheeyesofGodlookingdownuponme.Us;theylookeduponus,foritisallof creationthatshallreceivejudgment.Thattraincouldhavestayedinthetunnel’sdarkness foreternity,andstilltheeyeswouldsee.Itmattersnotwhere;WashingtonorBaltimore, traincarorthebedroomofone’schildhood.Theyareever-presentandever-piercing. Manytimessincethatday,Ihavequestionedthoseeyes.DidItrulyseethem?Didthey trulyseeme?
“I’mafanofstreetart,”Elliotmused.Justthenourcarwasswallowedintothebelly ofamountainIknewnotthenameof.Thelightswithinthetrainshowedtheirpresencein contrastalone.“There’sthisbuildingnearmyhouse—abandoned—coveredinmurals. Whatof?Letmethink.”
“OnFederalStreet?”
“Yeah.”
“Theonewiththesunflowers?”
“That’sit,thesunflowers!”Elliotthrewhisarmaroundmeandshookmeaboutlike abrothermight.That’swhatIfigure,anyway.Iwasanonlychild.“Icantellyou’llfitin, William.”
“AtGeorgetown?”
“Sure.Youseemlikeagoodkid.Handsome,too.”
“Thanks.”
“Haveyouthoughtaboutjoiningafraternityyet?”Iwasgoingtoopenmymouth andspeak,butElliotwouldn’tletme.“Iguessitdoesn’tmatter.You’dhavetowait‘tilnext year,anyways.Alotcanhappeninayear,yeah?”
“Yeah.”Justthenthetrainpassedoutoftheothersideofthetunnel,andthescenery returnedtothatofexpansivefarms,dottedwithpatchesoftreesandponds.“I’vealways wantedtolivesomewherelikehere.”
“Onafarm,youmean?”
“Yeah.”Icouldfeelasmilecreepingontomyface.“Don’tyoufigureitwouldbenice? Raisingabunchofsheepwithsomeone—goingbirdwatchingontheweekends?”
Elliotlookedpastmeoutthewindowandbegantolaugh.
“Itakeitback,”hesaid.“You’reahorridfitforGeorgetown.That’sallright—I’ll introduceyoutosomefolkswhenwegetdownthere.”
IreasonedtomyselfthatIdidn’tneedtobeagoodfit.Iwasn’tinhighschool,after all.ButthenmymindarguedthatIhadbeenwithMaisieinhighschool.ThemostIhadfor collegewasatrain’sacquaintance.
Idon’thavesomuchtosayabouttherestofthetrainride.That’snottosayElliot wasn’tinterestingcompany—hepossessedacertainhardnessunmatchedbyeventhe
starkestofyouth.ItwasIwhowasthedeathofourtalks.Afteranhourorso,Igrewso exhaustedkeepingupwithhimthatIgavehimdominionovertheair.Justafterhegaveup talkingandpulledoutabook.
“WelcometoWashington,”Iheardtheconductorsayovertheintercom.Therewas moretothemessage,butImisseditoverthebusinessthatfollowed.Peoplerosefrom theirseatsbeforethetrainhadevenslowed,nearlysteppingovereachothertobefirst ontotheplatform.
“Busycity?”Iasked.Elliotnoddedandslidhisbookbackintohisbackpack.Ithinkit wassomethingbyCamus,butcertainmemoriesarelosttoage.
“Itusedtobeaswamp.”
Iwasn’tquitesurehowthatrelatedtowhatIsaid,butIdidn’tmindmuch.
“It’saninorganiccityevenbyacity’sstandards—plannedfromstarttofinish.”
“Isthatbad?”
“Notnecessarily.Makesiteasytonavigate,technicallyspeaking—perfectlysituated betweenNorthandSouth,too.”
“NotEastandWest,though.”
“No.”
Soonenoughthebrakesofthetrainhissed,andpeoplebegansteppingovereach otherinbreaksforthedoors.Oncetheclothadthinnedenoughforthetwoofustorise, wepressedourselvesintotheaisleandbeganshufflingdownwiththerest.Icounted myselfluckytobebehindElliot—hemovedwithsuchpurposethatIfiguredbeingaffront himwouldhavecarriedacertainanxiety.
WhenIfinallyexitedthecavernoushallsofthetrainandcouldseeWashington’s stuntedspiresstretchedbeneaththesummersun,Ifeltnearhopeful.ThatisnottosayI didnothavemisgivingsaboutmyfuture—anyonewithtrueintentso,too,possessesfear. However,itwasanundeniableobservationuponthereflectionoftheselfthatIwasalive. ForeighteenyearsIhadlived,andIwouldliveanotherhalfifitmeantIgottoreturn hometoMaisie.Thewarmthofthesunremindedmeofher.Iheldahandtomycheek.
byJoséGarciaOrtega
Gabby Gogh
Cardboard Castles byJulianneDee
2ndPlaceWinner,FatherCallanPoetryContest Cardboardcastlesbeneathcitylights, Abackdroptohurried,avertedgazes. Theyseeshadows,notsoulsinthenight.
Emptyeyescastinjudgment’sharshglare, “Lazy,”theywhisper,“weak,failuresoutright.”
Cardboardcastlesbeneathcitylights.
Theirstoriesuntold,hiddeninthreadbaresights, Twistedbywhispers,lostinthecity'smight. Butcompassionignitesabeaconsobright, Warmthmeltsthefrostwherethecoldwindbites.
Asharedsmile,amoment,ahelpinghand, Breachingthewallswhereprejudicetakesflight.
Cardboardcastlesbeneathcitylights.
Hopeflickers,hesitant,thentakesastand, Breakingthesilence,thedarkness,thefright. Theyseefaces,notshadowsinthenight.
Compassion’sembrace,agentle,healingmight, Transformscastlesofcardboardtodreamsinflight.
Cardboardcastlesbeneathcitylights, Theyseeshadowsnomore,butsoulsinthenight.
Sex. Drugs. Rock & Roll byNathanialScritchfield
4thPlaceWinner,GunardCarlsonContest Thecoolairhitastheproducerenteredthedoorsofthebuilding;thethoughtof sweatmadehimsquirmindiscomfort.
Histeethwereanunnaturalwhiteakintothewingsthatmightbeseenonanangel. Yet,everymorningwhenheflossed,hisgumswouldbleed,adeepcrimsonstainingthe purewhitesmilethathewouldflashatothersasthedaywenton.Hehatedthisfact,that hisimageofwealthandsuccesscouldbetarnishedbythesimpleactofsmiling,butitisa humanact,somethingthathedoesnotknowmuchabout.
“Hello,Janet.Remember,wehaveameetingtodaywithTheBlues.Thatrecordistoo experimentalforradio-play.”
“Iwillseeyouthen,sir.Haveagoodday,”sheanswered.Shehadseenthebloodstainedteeth,thedeepredoffakenessshowing.ThescentofhisValentinocologne suffocatedherashewalkedpast,fillingtheentrancewiththesmellsofmoney,power,and fabrication.
WelcometothemusicworldofLosAngeles,California,thecityofdreams.
Theman’snamewasMarkMorningstar,seniorproduceratIrisRecords,amultiplatinumcompanythathadchurnedoutmoremoneythananyotherlabelinCalifornia. Theywerethe1%ofthemusicworld,theVIPpartyattendees,thelow-emotion,creativesuckingparasitesofL.A.
Markwasatallman,standingat6foot2.Hekepthishairinashortcrewcutstyle withenoughgeltofashiontwobrickstogether.Hewasknownastheangel,theonewho broughtintalentandmadethemstars,doingeverythingpossibletogettheirsongsonthe streamingplatformsandplayingontheradio.Hewasoriginallyraisedinalower-class family,hisfatherbeinganalcoholic.Drivenbytheideaofwealthfromayoungage,he scrapedhiswaytowhereheisnow,neverwantingtofallbackdowntothelowhewasin. TodaywasnodifferentinthispathasheenteredtherecordingboothlabeledTheBlues.
“Morning,gentlemen.Howistherecordgoing?”Markinquired.
“Comingalong.We’reexperimentingwithadifferentsound,somethingthatspeaks morewiththemessageofthealbum,”saidtheguitarist,JohnnyMoon.
“Whatdoyoumean,‘experimenting’?Experimentingdoesn’tbringradioplayor streams.Thisneedstobeaclean-cutnormalrecord,noneofthatweirdbullshit.This needstomakemoney,notchangetheworld.”
“You’reneveropentoanynewideas,”Johnnybegan.“You—"
“Newideasdonotmakemoney,”Marksaidwithsuchfinalitythathecutoff Johnny’sshort-livedprotest.Heloweredhisvoiceandcontinued.“Icanandwillcutyour dealshortifyoudonotabidebywhatyou’reheretodo.Youareheretowritesongsthat aresoshallowthateveryTom,Dick,Sherry,andJennyintheworldcanlistentothemand bringinrevenue.Ifyoudon’twanttomakemoney,thenIwillbemorethanhappyto throwyouallbackonthestreetwhereIfoundyou,whereImadeyou,gaveyouthe utilitiestopartyandliveinthepenthousesyoualllove.”
Thebandsatinsilence,notknowingwhattosay.Therewasnothingtheycoulddo. Theangelhadgivenhisorders,andtheyhadnochoicebuttofolloworbeputbackonthe hardasphaltofLosAngeles.
“Now,Iwon’tkeepyou,gentlemen.Getbacktoworkandremember,don’t experiment.”
Markleftthebooth,sternlywalkingtowardthenexttogothroughthisentire conversationonceagain.Don’texperiment,threatentocutacontract,andleavebefore hearingfromtheartists,thepeoplewhoweremakinghimaspowerfulashehadbecome. Markwoulddothisdaily,almosttoconditiontheartiststomakewhathewanted,likea groupofandroidsdoingthebiddingoftheiroverlord.
Openingthedoor,Markenteredhisofficeandbegangettingthingsreadyforthe day.Therewasstillmuchforhimtodo,especiallyhisfavoritething,cocaine.Itwasalittle habithepickedupwhenhemovedtoL.A.andnow,hecouldn’tgetenoughofit.Marktook asmallbagfromhisdeskandbegancuttingaline,snortingitthrougha$100bill, throwingthemoneyinthetrashafter.Nowitwastimeforwork.Pickingupthephone,he dialedanunusualnumber;itrangandrangbeforefinallybeingpickedupbytheother line.
“Hello?”thevoiceanswered.
Markhadtwophones,hisnormalcellphoneandaburnerphoneusedtoconduct other“business”affairs.
“Hello,Bill!How’syourmorninggoing?GottalovethatCaliforniasunshine!”Mark chirpedinaphonytone,hisunnaturallywhiteteethshowingashissmilenearlyreached hiseyes,asmallamountofcokestillonhisupperlip.
“Look,Mark,”thevoicereplied,“Ican’tkeepdoingthis.ThepeopleatBillboardare startingtogetsuspicious.Frankly,I’mriskinglosingmyjob.”
“Oh,Bill,don’tyourememberourlittledeal?Youkeepthesongsmyartistsputout ontheHot100,andIdon’tletloosethelittlesecretaboutwhatyou’vebeendoingatthose ‘companyevents.’”
“Mark,youcan’tkeepdoingthis,it’snotright—”
“WHOAREYOUTOTELLMEWHATISNOTRIGHT,BILL?!”Markgrippedthephone sohardhebegantoshakewithrage.“Iamnottheonewhocontinuallysleepswiththe sleazesofL.A.anddoescokeofftheirbodiesinsteadofgoinghometomywifeandkids.”
“I’vemademistakes,Mark.Iknowthis,butifanyofthatgetsout,mycareer,my family—hell everything—willbeover.”Bill’svoicebegantoquiver.
“Wewon’thavethatissue,Bill.I’llkeepthisquietifyoukeepmysongsonthe charts.”
“Allright.I’llseewhatIcando.Bye.”BillhungupthephonebeforeMarkcould respond,leavingsilencetofilltheoffice.
Puttingdowntheburner,Markbegantodothemonotonousworkthatwasonthe schedulefortheday.Herepliedtodifferentemails,checkedthechartsandcreatedgraphs ofthemostpopularsounds,listenedtonewartistswhowantedtosigntothelabel,and,of course,didafewmorelinesinbetweeneverything.Markwouldthrowawayaround$400 eachdayfromthebillsheusedtogetthehighhealwaysdesired.Thedaykeptgoinguntil theevening,thetimewhenalltheelitesofthemusicworldbandedtogetherandengaged inallformsofexcess.Drinkinglargequantities,havingsexwithpeoplewhowanted favors,and,ofcourse,doingcopiousamountsofdrugs.TheyallmetatPinkSkull,themost eliteclubinallofLosAngeles.
Walkingintotheclub,MarkimmediatelynoticedBill,makingoutwithoneofthe dancersattheclubinbetweenhiseffortstocutlinesofcocaineforthemtosnort.Bill didn’tcareaboutMark’sthreat.Hewastoobusylivinginhisworldofexcessandrichesto noticeorcareaboutMarkorhiswifeandkids.PinkSkullwaswheretherichfeltthemost athome,wheretheycouldliveoutanydesire.Iftheywerewillingtopay,nothingwould beoffthetable.
Markwalkeduptoanemptytableandsatdown.Notlongafter,anothermanina silversuitjoinedhim.
“Mark,howareyoudoingtoday?”Thevoicewasdeep,andMarkimmediately recognizeditsowner:BarnabasSpider,theCEOofIris.
“Mr.Spider,Ididn’tthinkthatIwouldseeyoutonight.Isn’tyourdaughter'spiano recitalthisevening?”
Barnabaslaughed.“YouknowhowIfeelaboutthoseevents.Besides,I’lljustbuyher somethingnewandit’llallbeforgiven.”HeleanedintowardMarkandloweredhisvoice. “Now,thereisanimportantdiscussionweneedtohaveaboutTheBlues.Theirratingsare down,andwecannothavethatruinIris’sstrongreputation.”
“Ijustspokewiththemtoday,sir.Ihadletthemknowthatifthisnewrecordisnot gettinggoodradioplayandstreaming,itwouldbebacktothestreetwiththeirasses.” Markpulledoutasmallbaggiefilledwithcocaineandpouredoutasmallamountforthem both.
“Good.Wecan’thavethemruinprofitsforthemonthjustbecauseofsomeartistic vision.”Barnabassmiled.“Now,let’sstopthinkingofbusinessandbegintherealpartof theday.”
BothmenlaughedbeforebeginningtosnortthecokethatMarkhadtakenoutofhis pocket.Thenightwasjuststartingforthem.Thenextfourhourswerearushofdrugsand drinks;shotsweregiven,morelinesweresnorted,and,ofcourse,therewereaffairs happeningallaround.Mr.Spiderledoneoftheclub'sdancerstoabacksectionoftheclub, leavingMarkaloneatthetableashecontinueddrinkingexcessivelyandpullingoutmore cocaine.Ithadallbecomeablurforhim.Markdidn’tknowwherehewas,andheloved everysecondofit.Thiswaswhathehadworkedfor.Thiswaswhyhemadedifferent artistsconformtohisideals.Heneededthatmoneytofuelhisnights,somethinghecould notandwouldnotlivewithout.
Hehadsnorted25linesthroughoutthewholenightwhenhebegantofeelasenseof panicrushoverhim.Markfelttheneedtoescape.Hehadtorunawayandgetoutofthis place.Sprinting,heslammedintothechairofatableandcollapsed.
Marklayonthegroundoftheclub,havingzerocluewherehewasorwhohewas; thebloodfromhisnosefloweddowntohisteeth,stainingthemonceagainofcrimsonred. Somethingfeltwrong.Thepartywasbeginningtoslow,buthewasreadyforanotherline. Peoplewalkedoverhislimpbody,nothavingacareforhoworwhyhewasfacedownona disgustingclubfloor.Beforehecouldgetupandmove,thespeakerskickedbackonand startedplayingthenewsongbyTheBlues.Helistenedtoitandwonderedwhytheydidn't listentohim.Thesongdidn’tsoundrightatall.Healreadyplannedoncuttingtheir contractinthemorning.Heclosedhiseyesandfellasleep.
Theangelhadfallen.
Gloomy Days byHaileySelvage
Cold Sometimesthefeelingofthecoldseepsin; SometimesImissthatcoldanddarkfeeling. IevenstarttoforgetwhereI’vebeen; LikeI’mfallingupintotheceiling.
Myeyesstartwatering;myskingoesnumb. Butthebestpartiswhenthepainexists. Icanfeelthesingeingpaininmythumb. Thatburningpainthatwillonlypersist.
Exhausted
Iamtired
Offightingformylife Againstmyselfandeveryoneelse. Iamtired
Ofbeingignored Andwantingtobeheard. Iamtired
Offeelingthepressure ThatIwillneverbegoodenough. Iamtired
Ofbeingtired Andonlywantingtosleep. Iamtired
Becausesleepispeaceful Andpushesmyproblemsaway. Iamtired
BecauseIhavegivenup Onfightingonlyforme. Iamtired
BecauseIamtooyoung TofeellikeIamsuffocating. Iamjusttired.
Focus Sometimestobetteryourself, Youmustlosethepeoplenear. Theymayholdyouonashelf; Nottohelpthroughouttheyear.
Andtheyaren’tinterested Inthehelpyouareseeking. Theirvisitsarelimited Whileyousitlostandshrieking.
Theyholdyoudowninthedirt, Neverwantingyoutogrow. Suffocatingyouwithhurt, Itistimetoletthemgo.
Firsts Howareyoudoing?
Everyone’sreachingout. LookwhatI’mpursuing! Peacewaitsforme,Idoubt.
It’sdarkoutandIcan’tsleep.
Coldandwetlonelinessis Allthatmyfutureholds. Now,warm,IamHis Threatened,nolonger,bytheCold.
Don’tunderestimateit, Oh,notlikethathypocrite.
IthinkIcanstartcountingsheep Thesun’sstillup,though
Open your eyes Look
Thesunissobrightandwarm; Iwanttositoutsidenow. Look
Iseetherainfrommydorm, BeautyisallIcanallow. Look
I’maskingyoutohelp. Canyouevenhearme? Look
I’mbeinghelddownbykelp; It’sgotmebytheknee. Look
AmIjustdisappearing, Can’tyouseemedrowning? Look
Doesmycoffinneedveneering Whileyou’relookingatmefrowning. Look
Ithinkit’stimewepartways; Thingswillneverbethesame.
Please Just Look
when numbers became more than numbers byAvaDzurenda
2ndPlaceWinner,GunardCarlsonContest Asayoungchild,Idespisedmathandnumbers.Theinfiniterangecompiledoften contrastingdigitsalmostmademyinsidesoverflowanderuptwithfrustrationandrage daily.IvividlyremembermanytimeswhereIsatatthedinnertable,cryingovermymath homeworkthatseemedimpossible.AsIgrewup,however,Ibecameambitious, disciplined,eagerforcontrol,andatotalperfectionist—onethatwasnowconditionedto structureherlifetowardsturninghergoalsintoreality.Startingtoruncrosscountryand trackinmiddleschoolchangedmylifeentirely.Numbers,forthefirsttime,suddenly turnedintomorethandigitsonamathworksheet—theystartedtounreservedlydefine mysuccessbothonandoffthetrack.
Ibecameseriousaboutrunningineighthgrade.Ilovedtheeuphoricfeelingthatthe sportprovided,andasIstartedtotrainmore,mytimesimproved.Fromthatpoint,Iset variousgoals:someattainable,andafewmorefar-fetched.Beingambitious,Iknewthatif Iwantedtoachievethesegoals,Ineededtobecompletelydialed-inonrunninganddo whateveritwouldtaketoachievesuccess.Thismindset,onecomposedofpurely concentratingonmygoals,managedtoleadmeintoaspiraldownfall.
Duringmysophomoreyear,Ifacedaverydisappointingcross-countryseason.I trainednonstopinthesummer,butsomethingthatIneglectedwastreatingmybody correctly.Asaresult,Ifeltmybodyslowlydeteriorateastheseasonprogressed.Mytimes suffered,andthenumbersontheclocksoondefinedmyworth.Tome,mytimeshadtobe exactlywhatIwantedthemtobe,andifnot,Ideemedmyselfunworthyofeatingand beinghappy,andthat’sthethingaboutnumbers.
Betweennumberslieemptyspace,whichistheidealopportunityforminuscule decimalpoints,fractionsofdigits,andtosome,failure—complete,utterfailure.Thelast raceofmyseasonwasfilledwithfatigue,weakness,anddownrightexhaustion.Worstof all,itphysicallyshowed.IwasunabletorealizehowmuchweightIhadlostuntilIstepped onthescale.Astheseasonwrappedup,IfeltasifIwasatatotallossofcontrol.
NomatterwhatIdid,itseemedlikenothingwouldhelpmereachfasttimesagain. Therefore,IdecidedthatifIwantedtogetfaster,Ineededtostartliftingweightsagain, runningmore,andeatinga perfect diet,soIquicklystartedeliminatingcertainfoodsand ingredientsfrommydiet.Whatseemedaratherinnocentandhealthyideasoonturned intoorthorexia,aneatingdisordermarkedbyobsessionovercleaneating.Atfirst,I thoughtwhatIwasdoingwashelping.Besides,myindoortracktimeswerephenomenal. WhatIfailedtorealize,however,wasthatthewayIwastreatingmybodywasfarfrom
sustainable.Icontractedmononucleosisandstartedtofeelweak,mydayswereconstantly filledwiththoughtsaboutfood,andnumberssuddenlybecamemorethannumbers.
Calorieshadavaluablemeaninginmylife,andsodidthenumbersonthescale— theywereusedasameasuringscaleformysuccess.Bytheendofmyindoortrackseason, oneofmyworstfearshadcometrue—Iwasinjured.Thenextfewweekswerefilledwith devastation,tears,andhavoc,asIhadsustainedstressreactionstobothofmytibiasatthe sametimeandwasinconstantpain.Tomakemattersevenworse,Ifelldownaflightof stepsaweeklater,breakingmyankle.Suddenly,mylife,whichhadbeenoneconsumedby running,wasnowstrippedofthatpassion.Ratherthanonthetrack,Inowlivedinthe pool,thedoctor'soffice,andonthestationarybike.
Returningtorunningafterinjurywasanightmare.Ifoundmyselfinaconstant injurycycle.Myjunioryearwasfilledwithonlyahandfulofgoodraces,whiletherestof theseasonwasfilledwithpain,irondeficiency,andgenuinemisery.Iwantedtoreturnto runningwithenjoymentsobadly,butIwastrapped.Stillstrugglingwitheating,Idecided tostartgoingtotherapy,whereIwasdiagnosedwithatypicalanorexiaandavoidant restrictivefoodintakedisorder(ARFID).
RecoveryisprobablythehardestthingI’vedone,andIstillamgettingthroughit daybyday.Tocontinue,Ialsochosetostartliftingatanewgymwithnewcoaches. Overall,thatisoneofthebestdecisionsI’vemade.Liftinggavemeanewsenseof empowerment,andforthefirsttimeinmylife,Ifinallyfeltstrong—bothmentallyand physically.Mysenioryeartrackseasonwasthefirsttimewhennumbersbecamejust numbersagain.Caloriesdidn’tmeanasmuch;neitherdidthetimeontheclock.Sure,I havemygoals,butIhavelearnedtoenjoythejourneyofrunningmore,ratherthanjust solelyfocusingonthesegoals.Althoughneverlinear,myeatingdisorderrecoverygot easieroverall,mymoodwasliftedlittlebylittleeveryday,andIlearnedtogenuinelyhave funwithrunningonceagain.Failureisstilldifficulttofathom,butallhumansfail.Even withfailurecomesvaluablelessons,andlifeisaboutlearningandgrowing.
Now,theinfiniterangecompiledoftencontrastingdigitsmakesmybodycalm, knowingthat numbers are just numbers.
Vacation byCassidyBezek
Eyes
Fallen from Autumn byMadisonSoellner
3rdPlaceWinner,GunardCarlsonContest Fallismyfavoriteseason.Thewaytheleaveschangedcolor,andtheairfeltcool. Theweatherwasjustrightforjeansandasweatshirt.Itwastheperfecttimeofyearfor firesandbeingoutside.Myfamilyspenteveryweekendoutside,andmydadtaughtme aboutthestars.
Fallwasmyfavoriteseason,untilSeptemberof2022.Thediagnosiscame,butthis wasn’tmyfamily’sfirsttimegoingtowar.However,thiswasourfirsttimefacingthis opponent.Thephonecallcameafterhours.Mymomstoodinthekitchen,andtherestof ussilentlysatonthecouch.Westaredasthefirsttearfell.Cancer.Thistimeitwasn’t melanoma,butinstead,ararecanceronlyafewwomengetayear.Howluckymymom wastobepickedbythedemonnowinsideofher.
Chemotherapyandradiationtreatmentsstartedshortlyafter.EveryMondayI wouldmissmyclasses,andIwouldtakemymomtoherchemoappointments.Westarted atthetopofthehillforradiation,andweendedatthebottomforchemo.Ilefthalfway throughtogetlunch.Mymomwouldnapthroughmostofhertreatment,butIneededto betherejustincase.
Aftersixweeks,theystoppedtreatment.Thetumorshrunksomuchthatthey thoughtitwasgoneentirely.MymomgottoenjoyThanksgivingandChristmasin2022. Shetoldeveryoneshewascancerfree.TherewasaslighthesitationbecauseasinglePET scanstoodinthewayofthatlabel,butshewasconfident.Iftheresultscamebackas cancer,itwasa“minorsurgery”andshe’dbefine.
Christmaspassed,anditwastimefortheresults.Anotherlate-nightphonecallfrom thedoctor,andthistimeweknewwhatthatmeant.Cancer,again.Weknewtheplanof action,though.MymompreparedforsurgeryinMarch,anditallwentwell.
Untilitwasn’t.Twoweekspost-op,mymomwasinextremepain.Mydadrushed hertothehospital.Shehadaninfectionattheincisionsite.Atwo-nightstayinPittsburgh, andalotofantibioticslater,mymomfinallygottocomehome.
Bythetimesummercame,mymomwasstillmiserable.Westartedthesummer withanexamunderanesthesia.Thedoctortookbiopsieswhilesheexaminedmymom, andwewaitedagain.Aboutaweeklater,mymomgotyetanotherphonecall.Thecancer wasback,andithadspread.Whenmymomwasoriginallydiagnosed,thetumorwason herleftside.Now,thecancerwasontheright.
Theycaughtthetumorearly,though.Unfortunately,thatdidmeananothersurgery formymom.HersurgeryhappenedinJune,andweallthoughtthatshewouldbebetter whenitwasover.Thatwaswhathappenedlasttime.Exceptshecamehomestill miserable.
Julywasourfamilyvacation,andmymomhidinsidethehotelroomtheentire week.Thepatternreallybeganfromthatweek.Shebegannotleavingthehouse,andshe waslesslikelytoattendevents.ShehadbeenoutofworksinceMarchwhensheworked forapproximatelyaweek.Thecancerwastakingmymom.
Theytriedeveryoptiontheycouldforherpain.Theygaveherpills,buttheydidn’t work.Theytriedanerve-block,butthatdidn’twork.Theytriednumbingcreams,butthey didn’twork.Nothingwasworking,andherhealthwasdeclining.
Thatputsusbackatfallagain.Andfalllooksdifferentthisyear.Thisyeartheleaves don’tlookasprettyastheychangecolors,butinsteadmockdeath.Nooneisspending timeoutside,andIdon’tknowthelasttimeIsataroundafire.
AsAugustwasending,mymomwasgoingforanotherexamunderanesthesia.They tooksixbiopsieswhileexaminingher,butpromisedmydadshelookedgood.Thedoctor saidshewouldbeshockediftheycamebackascancer.
Ittooktwoweeksthistimetogettheresultsback,andunfortunatelymymomwas inthemiddleofanotherhospitalvisitwhiletheresultswerepending.Theyfoundamass inherlungsthatwasagainpromisednottobecancer.Theresultsofthebiopsiescame back,andfiveofthesixwerecancer.ThenextstepwasaPETscantodetermineifthe lungswerecancer,andhowmuchithadspread.
Septembercameandwent.OctoberbeganwithaPETscan.Theresultscameaweek later,pairedwithyetanotherhospitalstay.Theresultscamebackascancerinherlungs. Shehascancerinthreeofherlymphnodes.Theoriginalbiopsylocationsarenowjusta big,generalareainsteadofonelocalizedpoint.
Thetreatmentplanisstillintheworks,butmymomfinallycamehomeafter5days inthehospital.Asofrightnow,mymomwillbeginchemotherapytreatmentsagain.She willnotbereceivinganyradiation.Herchemowillbe30-minutesessionseverytwo weeks.
OnOctober23,2023,mymomwasheadedtothehospitalagain.Shewasather worst,anditwasquicklybecomingrealthatsomethingmorewasgoingon.Shewastaken totheTyroneHospitalforobservations.Theybelievedshehadaninfection,andshewas tobetransportedtoPittsburgh.Twodayslater,mymomwouldbetransportedbyher father-in-lawratherthanAMED.
Uponarrivingatthehospital,everyone’sliveswouldsoonchange.October26,2023, wegotthenews.Mymomwasdying.Allofthesudden,wewerehearingthenews. It’s in the lymph nodes of the abdomen. It’s in her pelvic bone. It’s in her spinal cord. Shedidnotget
toenjoythefallthatsheloved.Thechillyair.Theleaveschanging.Decoratingthehouse. Instead,mymomspenttwoandahalfweeksinahospitalbed.
WhenIgotthephonecall,IwasatStarbucks.Isatonthepatiobecausetheweather wasperfectfallweather.Therewasaslightbreeze,anditfeltextracoldonmyfaceasthe tearswentdownmyface.Myfinalquestiontomydadwassimple. Is she going to die? His answerwashonest. Yes.
WedroveouttoPittsburghthatnight.Wespenttheentiretimewithherinthe hospital.Wesleptintheroomafterthenewswasofficial.Someonewasalwaysbyher side.
November7,2023,wegottobringmymomhome.Herwishwastocomehomeon hospicecare.Mymomgottobesurroundedbyherfamilyandlovedones.Everydaywe hadonHallmarkChristmasmovies.Shegottolookoutthewindowandseetheleaves changingandslowlyfalling,onebyone.
November12,2023,at1:07pm,timestopped.Theworldstoppedturning.Fallwas officiallyover.Mymomleftthisworld,andunfortunatelytheworldkeptturning.Apartof mewentwithherthatday,andeverydaysincethenIhavebeentryingtofindawayto livewithoutthat.
Theleavesonthegroundlookedmundane,andtheairwascolderthanbefore.Fall nolongerfeltlikeaseasonofwarmthandfondmemories.Butrather,fallfeelslikeachilly walkthroughanabandonedgraveyard.
To Young Caroline: And Other Fellow Graduates of Mine byMaryKatharineMcCann
1stPlaceWinner,FatherCallanPoetryContest IknewtheyoungCaroline
Beforeshegraduated,beforeshewenton Congratulated,andalarmedawakeatdawn
Toofferherprofessionalexpertisetothehurtingcornersofhumanity
Beforeshewasawifeoramother,abadge-wearer,ahouse-owner
Andtoallwhoknowherfortherestofthislife,fine
ButIknewtheyoungCaroline.
Iknewherwhenhercheekswerebrightandsoft
Andwhenshetoldmeuncertain,undefineddreamsaboutthefuture,andherhopes
Andweoncelaughedattheabsurdityoflifetogether
Inthesesleep-deprivedclassrooms,intheseragingboothsatthebars
Inthesetree-branchesfromwhichwebothlearnedtotakeflight
Andwhenshereminisces,yearsdowntheline
Iwillbeacharacterthere,inthosetaleswiththeyoungCaroline.
Iknowthegirlthatsomewillonlyknowfrompicture-framesofold Sons,daughters,coworkers
Newskiesawaitus,thegodsthatmadeus
InmanywaysI’mboundtobegoneandirrelevant
InmanywaysI'mjustthesideline
Andonwardsshe'snolongermine
ButIhadtheyoungCaroline.
O,’ my Body, O,’ my Sorrow byAnnahLovette
Astrangerhadenteredtheforestthatmorning.
Heavyfootfallscrunchedthroughthebrushatalanguidpace,stepsthatcouldonly belongtosomethingheavingandmonstrous—somethingwithhungeratthecenterofits foggymind.Itsfrontpaws—hands,morelike—scrapedatthebaseofafallenoak.Ascent hadpiqueditsinterest.Whetheritwasfoodorathreat,itwasunsure,butitwas desperateforanswers.
Sniffling,thecreaturepresseditsnoseagainsttheareainquestionandinhaled.
Aman.
A human man.
Thesmellwasunique,blendedwithbodyodorandstalebooze.Itflareditsnostrils. Themanmusthavebeenhererecently.Thebeast’ssharpearsrotatedleft,thenright, pausingastheyregisteredthedistantcallofabird.
Itsheadswungtowardsthesource,overjoyedtofindthatthepatchofscentithad discoveredfellinthesamedirection.Thebeastdippedlow,tentative,lettingitschest scrapeagainsttheforestfloor.Thehacklesonitsbackraisedalongsidethesharpnessof itsshoulderblades,almoststickingthroughitsshaggy,blondehide.
Asitsearsflattenedagainstthebackofitsneck,itbegantomove.
Itpassedthetree,circledarottingstump,andignoredaharethatdartedinfrontof it—thestrangerwasfarmoreimportant.Farmore interesting.
Thesmellwasstrongernow—closer.Thebeastflasheditsteethforjustamoment,a reflexthatitcouldn’thelpintimesofsuchexcitement.Farahead,framedbythefirm trunksoftrees,stooditstarget.
Clinkingarmor.Creakingleather.Theever-presentstenchofsweat.
Themanwasunawareofitspresence,mumblingtohimselfaspeoplesooftendid. Evenfromadistance,themonstercouldsensethebloodpoundingbeneaththeman’sskin. Itspiraledthroughveinsandmuscles,betweensinewandfatandcartilagethatwould crunchbetweenitsjaws.Heknewlittleoftheboonheheld.Saliva,thickandoxygenated, drippedfromthebeast’sblacklips.Itlickeditschops,tongueslidingacrossitsdrynose. Withcold,calculatedcaution,itbegantoadvance.
Itsstomachlurchedasabranchsnappedbeneathitsweight.
Theman’sreactionwasimmediate.Wide-eyed,hespuntofaceit.Leavesflew— birdsflutteredaway—asthemonsterattacked.Teethpuncturedthroughtheleather exteriorofhisarmor.Ascreamrangout,minglingwiththeanimalisticgrowlsthat rumbledfromthebeast’sthroat.Itbitdownharder,teethsinkingintosomethingtender. Foamaccumulatedattheedgesofitsmouth,coloredapinkthatimpersonatedthegentle colorsofthesunrise.
Anarmoredfistsmashedintothesideofthemonster’sskull.Itcouldbarelyfeelthe thing,withclawsfartoodulltorip,maim,ortear.Anchoredintothefleshofhisforearm, itsteethhaddeglovedarmmusclefrombone—theulnaandradius,itthoughtit remembered.
Assoonasithadappeared,theman’shammer-likefistvanished.Thebeastwasleft withanopportunity.Itsmassivehandsreachedout,tippedwithclawsthatwerecloserto daggersthanthefingernailsthattheyhadonceborn.Theseclawswouldtearoffhislimbs, pushthemselvesbetweenribs,andpryoutwards,revealingthehallowedundulationof lifethatwilledallcreaturestobreathe.Hisentrailswouldsteaminthecrispmorningair. Warm.Welcomingincomparisontotherestoftheworld.Perhapsthemonstercould crawlinsideofhisribcage.
Burrowintoalveolartissue.Makeahomeofit.
Rednesswouldpermeateitssurroundings.Likethefloorthatithadbeenreminded of—thefloorboardsthathadonceseparateditsfeetfromthedirt.Thesoundofliquid pouringontothem,leavingstainsthatbranchedthroughoutthewoodworklikelightning. Someonewascrying,itknew.Everythingblurred,thesetauntingsensationsandtheman beforeit,thetastesandthesmellsthatassaulteditssinuses,asfogovertakesallthatcan beperceived.
Thebeastcouldnotfinditinitselftoforgivethisterriblefog.Someonepassed throughthefrontdoor,fastenedtothewallbyasinglehinge.Theforest—thewildworld thatprowledwithcreaturessuchasitself–hadbeenwelcomedinside.
“Callisto?”
Awoman’svoice.
Sheknewthatvoice.
Thenamethatthevoicespokeoozedwithfear.Eachsyllablequiveredmorethan thelastasiftheactofsayingitwasenoughtobringitsspeakertoherknees.
What was that?
Quickly,thebeastshookthethoughtfromitsmindandfinishedthejob. * * *
Therewerefourmoonsintheskythatnight.
Aellur,Forthungr,Myrkiv,andVulfmani:bright,tauntingthingsthatseemedto waverwitheachofCallisto’ssteps.Thetoeofherbootpresseddownonapatchofdry brambles.Itdisintegratedwithacrunchthatsilencedthehootingowlafewtreesaway. Hereyes,frozeninanupwardglance,reflectedtheplanetaryquadrupletsthatstakedtheir claimtothenightsky.Myrkivwashalfwaygone,swallowedbythemidpointofitslunar cycle,withVulfmaniandForthungrclosebehind.
Aellurwasfull.
Beforeher,thewoodlandstretchedendlessly,anexpanseofdeciduouslimbsthat seemedtotanglethehighertheyreached.Springwasmarkedbyheavyrainfallandfog, bothofwhichcreatedanenvironmentthatwasequalpartsdampandsticky.Themisthad retreatedfornow,though.Visibilitywashigh.Theair—whilenotascrispasshewould havepreferred—wascooler.
Settingherjaw,Callistodecidedthatshewouldmakedowithwhatthegodshad givenher.
Abandofcricketschirpedasshepassedthebushtheyhidin,anoisy,high-pitched dronethatoverwhelmedtheforest’ssilenthush.Firefliesdriftedthroughtheair,seeking refugeinthetreesastheirbodiesglowedintandem.
Thebroadswordonherhipclinkedasshemoved.Itusuallybotheredher—that incessantsound—butthereweremorepressingmatterstoconcernherselfwith.Father hadsentherouttohuntnotlongago,onthenotionthatMotherwouldbehomesometime intheevening.Shewasnotafanofreturningtoabarrentable,andfrankly,neitherwas Callisto.Surely,MotherhadcompletedherjourneyhomefromtheHunter’sConvocation.
Shewasprobablyatthetablenow:hungry,impatient,anddisappointed.She’d ratherstarvethanreappearwithemptyhands—astainontheMardagaylfamily.
Sherolledhereyesand,yet,trodon.
Anhourpassed,filledwiththescreechingbirdsandablatantlackofsuccessinher hunt.TherocksinCallisto’sbootswerestartingtobecomemorepainfulthanirritating, themosquitoshadtakentoeatingheralive,andthedamnedswordonherbackhadyetto silenceitself.
Fine,shethought. Have it your way.
Glovedhandsreachedtowardsthesword’sscabbardonherhip.Shewashalf temptedtoabandonitinfavorofthecrossbowthatdangledacrossherback.Noneedfor swordswhenhunting deer ofallthings.“Useless,”shehissed.“Youare useless.”
“Itisfoolishtotravelthesewoodsalone.”
Avoice.
A man’s voice.
“Terriblydarkouthere,”itcontinued.“Terribly dangerous.”
Callistoglancedbehindhershoulder,handfixedtothesword’spommel.Several pacesawaystoodamandressedinablackcloak,justlongenoughtohidehisankles.A matchingcowlcoveredhishead,thoughhisfacewasexposed.Asmilecurvedthecorners ofhismouth,creatingwrinklesinhisoliveskin.
“Identifyyourself,”Callistodemanded.Shelongedforthesecurityofhercrossbow. Thelastthingshewantedtodowasgetanycloserbutthesword,ofcourse,wouldleave herwithnochoice.
“Iammerelyapasserby—astranger.”Themancockedhishead.“You lookfamiliar, though.Suchastrikingface.”Hetookastepforward,promptingCallistotofacehim.Her breathingslowedtoacrawl.“Tellme,whatisyourname?I’dlovetoplaceonetoaface likeyours.”
Hereyesshotdaggersinthestranger’sdirection.Shedidnotlikethismanorhis incessant,invasivequestions,butifgivinghimasimplenamewouldridherofhis presence…
“Callisto,”sheadmitted.“Andyouare?”
“Ah—that is familiar.”Ignoringherquestion,themancontinuedinhisapproach.He wasmuchtallerthanCallistohadanticipated.
Shenarrowedhereyesatthetoweringman.“Itshouldn’tbe.”
Thestrangerraisedafist.
PaineruptedinthebackofCallisto’sskull.Starslitteredhervisionasshe plummetedtotheground.Thestrangerenteredherswirlingsight,accompaniedby anothercloakedfigurewhograspedastaffequippedtocrackskulls.Thestrangerfelltoa knee,pressingweightintoherabdomen.Herchestheavedunderthesuddenforceasthe mancapturedbothofherwrists.
“Youplantokillme,right?”Callisto’svoice,fullofconfidence,betrayedthepanic thatwasracingthroughherblood.“Myparents—they’llfindyou.They’llturnyouinside out.”
Theman’shandssqueezedtighteraroundherwristsasitbegantorain.
Sweat,mixedwiththerainfall,trickleddownthesideofCallisto’sachinghead.A lumpformedinherthroat,tautwithanxietythatbeggedhertoactratherthanspeak.Her eyesdartedleft.Shecountedthreefigures,withafourthemerging.Totheright,fivemore. Shewould talk herwayout.IntimidatethemasFathertaughther.“Howabout—”
“Your parents.”Spit,reekingofrotandcigarash,fellontoherfaceintinydroplets.It waswarmonherskin,liketheradiantheatofafreshlyfelledanimal.“I’mnotgoingto kill you,”themancackled,hiseyeswide.“Thatwouldbeawaste.”
“Thenitwouldbeinyourbestinteresttoletmeleave.”Confusiontaintedwhatlittle assertivenessremainedinhervoice.Themandidnotreply.Callisto’sheartsank.“I’m very forgetful,youknow,”shesputtered.“This—this never happened.”
“Ibegtodiffer.”Colorflickeredinthestranger’seyes—awrathfulorangethat glowedlikethedyingembersinafirepit.“Youwon’tforgetthisnightforaslongasyou maylive.”
Themanstoodtohisfeet,wipinghispalmsonhiscloak.Callisto,astoundedbyher suddenfreedom,begantobackpedal.Herhandsgraspedmuddyrocksandtreerootsas theypulledherawayfromthemanandhishorribleeyes.“Leavemebe,”shebegged.Rain batteredherface.
“Youthinkmeafool?’”Hecackled.“Wearealltooawareofyourcrimes, Mardagayl—youandyourwretchedfamily.Countlessmembersofthiscourtgone,slainin thenameofhumantradition.”Hisbandofcloakedfiguresrevealedthemselves,morethan adozensteppingfromtheshadows.“It’safairtrade.Youshedourblood—youkillour own?Sobeit.”Hepulledthesoakedhoodfromhishead.Awildnessbarelycontained itselfbehindthefeaturesofhisscarredface,achingtorevealthemselvesunderthe moonlight.“Aneyeforaneye,aheartforaheart.”
Hechuckled.“Humanityfor humanity.”
Werewolves, sherealized. They’re a cult of accursed.
“Iswear,I’mnotworthyourtimeorworth eating—”
“Iwouldratherrotthanplungemyteethintoyourputridflesh,”hebarked.“I expectedahunterofsuchcalibertobefamiliarwiththeprocesses,butIdigress.”He gnashedhisjaws,displayingcarnivorousteeth,crampedtightinhismouth.“Thereare plentyofwaystocurse.”
Callistoshriekedas hands sproutedfromtheearth,gauntandmummified. Impenetrableblackcoatedtheirexteriors,dull,irreflective,andall-swallowing.Bony fingersflexed,producingcracksandpopsbetweenthejoints.
“Andyou,doomedgirl,”hehissed,“willfindyourselfimmolated.”
WhitehotpainsurgedthroughCallisto’sshapeasoneofthehandsgrippedherleft forearm.Itwaslikefire,meltingthroughsteelandclothasifitwereneverthereatall.It twistedoutwards,anachethatlatchedontoeverypartofher,heavyinherlimbslikelead. Rancidandsour,thesharpscentofcharredfleshbeganitsassaultonhersenses.
Abrandappearedinthestranger’shand,thekindfitforstampinglivestock, sparklingabrilliantsilver.Theimageonitsendwasunreadableand,markedly,unheated. Beforeshecouldprotest,itwaspressedintohershoulderblade.
Itwasworsethanthehands.Itquicklysunkpastskinandmuscle,shovingitself againstbone.Sicknessspreadfromthebrandasitwasfinallyremovedandshevomited.
Somethingdeepinsideher—aprimalfeelingthatshesomehowknewwascausingthe migraine—urgedhertobite.
Sharpenedagonybranchedfromthefrontofherfaceassomethingeruptedfrom withinit,pairedwithadeafeningcrack.Thebonesinherarmsandlegsfeltlikethey’d beenshatteredandreformedpastthelimitationsofheranatomy.Pinpricksexploded acrossherskin,burrowingintoherveryfollicles.
Ashapeshehadseenmanytimesbefore,withitstwistedlupinehead,lunged towardsher.Thestranger—orwhathadoncebeen—slasheditsclawsalongherface, halfwayblindingher.Callisto,reborn,lickedherlipstodiscoverteeth,sharpandcurved andknifelike.Hernewfoundjawscrunchedintotheopposingbeast’smuzzle.
I’ll kill you all.
Hotbloodclungtohermouth.Itsirontastefilledherwithenergy.Carriedby instinctandlimbsthatfeltdisconnectedfromherownbody,Callistoboundaway, abandoningthecultanditsvileinstruments.
Twigssmackedintoherface,wetwithfreshrain.Shehadtogetawayfromhim.
That man.
Aellurcastitselfuponherbleedingface.Soundswerelouder,colors—sharper.New smellswere everywhere.Apersistentgrowlswelledinherchestasifithadmadeahome inherribcage.Herthoughtsscrambledtofindpurchasewithinherslipperymind.
Aftersometime,abuildingappearedinherpath,surroundedbyscentsthat producedanacheinherchestthatrivaledthepaininhershoulderblade.Tiredlegs carriedhertowardsit,sinuous,lanky,andbentinwaysthatmadeCallistowantto collapse.Mudclungtoherfeet,joiningtheburrsthathadbuiltuparoundherankles.
Asshereachedthedoorstep,thepaininhereyeflared,throbbingwithintheorbitof herskull.Herfullsighthadnotreturned.Nomatter.Adoorlayahead—thedoortoher home, sherealized.
Itwassmallerthansheremembered.Bloodrushedtoherheadasshepushed throughthedoorway.Trippingoverapairofwetboots,shefelltoherknees.Herears swiveledtocatchthesuddensoundofavoicetoherright.Basedonthefaintscentof charcoalthatcamefromthefireplaceonrainynights,itcamefromtheden.
Father?
Sheshottoherfeet,smackingherheadagainsttheceiling.Indeed,Fatherwasinhis chair,butsomethingwasamiss.Callistoapproached,topplingfurniturewitheachstep. Fatherseemedupset,shoutingfragmentsofwordsthatdidn’tquitereachher.
Father, shepleaded. There is something wrong with me.
Hepressedhimselfdeeperintothechairassheclosedthedistancebetweenthem, eyeswideandtrembling.Again,heyelled.Again,Callistodidnotunderstand.
It feels like my thoughts are leaking out onto the floor. Callisto’shands—large,knifelikethingsthattrembledwithanticipation—reachedtowardshim. Help me.
Hefrozeastheylaidthemselvesuponhisshoulders,bunchingupthefabricofhis shirt.Hisskinlaybeneathit,tenderandsoft–thin,likepaper.Herblacklipsliftedintothe cruelmimicofasmile.
I missed you, Father.
Theringinginherearssubsidedandifonlybriefly,Fatherspoke.
“DIANA,PLEASE—”
Callisto’smindwentblank.
Hotliquidpouredontothefloor,minglingwiththewoodgrainthatshecouldfeel beneathherfeet.Windbristledthefuronherback.Thedoormustbeopen.Inthat voicelesssilence,shedaredonlytostandstillandbreatheassheawaitedtheblacknessin hersighttofade—tofigureoutwhyherhandsandchestandmouthwereso, so warm.
Hisscentwaspalpable,mingledironandmeatandtears—thatwasherfatherwho hadlolledbackintohislovinglywornchair.Sleeping,shefirstthought,buthiseyeswere open,surfacesblurryasifhehadn’tsleptatall.
Afreshburnrippledthroughthemusclesofherback.Withayelp,Callistoswungto facethesource,flexingherclawedfingers.Yelloweyesmethazel.
“Callisto?”
Mother.
Therehermotherstood,drenchedinrain,herfacetwistedwithconfusionand horror.ThebriefreassuranceCallistofeltwasinstantlysmotheredbytheaxe,stinkingof silver,thatsatcomfortablyinhermother’sgrasp.Fatherhadcalledfor her.
Mostimportantly,Callistohadreturnedempty-handed.
Mother, there were men. They hurt me. I ran.
“You—you didthis?”
What do you mean? SheglancedtowardsFather. He won’t wake. Something is wrong.
Theburningreturnedashermotherplungedtheaxeheadintoherchest.Callistofell backwithacry,reelingatthesizzlingnoisethatcamefromthewound.Motherstarted shouting,justasFatherhad—incomprehensible,yetso,soangry.
Why? shebegged. Why won’t you listen?
“Youkilledhim!”
Callistofroze.
What?
HereyesreturnedtoFather’schair,paintedinredsandbrownsand— Oh.
Oh gods.
Theaxefoundherfleshagain,nearhershoulder.Sheclawedagainstthehardwood floor.
“Leavethishouseordie,”cameMother’svoice. I love you.
“Leaveordie!”
I’m sorry.
GlassshatteredasCallistoleapedthroughawindow.Sheranwithoutdestination, awayfromthewailingthatcamefromaplaceshehadoncecalled“home.”
Themonsterthrewbackherheadandhowled.
Itdidnotdaretolookback.
byAnnahLovette
1
The Beast of Gevaudan
stPlaceWinner(VisualArts),GunardCarlsonContest
Sweet Dreams byJillianHodge
1stPlaceWinner,GunardCarlsonContest Everywarbeginswithsilence.Silenceuntilthefirstshotisfiredorthefirst explosionlightsuptheworldwithasickeningshriek.WhatwouldmakethethirdWorld Waranydifferent?WhentherumblingsofWorldWarIIIfirstarose,itbroughtalongmany memesandrunningjokes.Noone’slaughingnow,though.Onedaytherewereonly rumorsofthecomingwar.Thenextthereweremissilesinthesky,searchingforahome onAmericansoil.
TheUnitedStateshadbeentoodividedwithinthemselvestodomuchmorethan argueovertheiropposingpoliticalviewpoints.Itseemedthatassoonasthewarhad begunitwasover.Thewarendedthesamewayitstarted…insilence.TheUnitedStates wasreducedtoashellofwhatithadbeen,andtheremainingsurvivorsgatheredinthe centeroftheU.S.,takingrefugeinwhatremainedofSouthDakota.
TheaftermathofthewarhadlefttheUnitedStateswithatoxicandharsh environmentthatwasnexttoimpossibletolivein.Usingpartsofoldbuildingsand automobilesfromthesurroundingareas,adomewasconstructedtoallowsurvivorsto liveandthriveinuntiltheearthhadhealedenoughforthemtolivefreelyaboutits surface.
WiththebuildingofTheDomecompleted,theragtagsocietydecidedtosetupa governmentoftheirown.Anelectionwasheld,andBriggsFordworth,ascientistwhowas employedbytheU.S.militaryduringthewarandresponsiblefortheplanningand creationofTheDome,waselectedtobetheirleader.
Inaway,thesurvivorshadfeltindebtedtoBriggs.Hewas,afterall,responsiblefor theestablishmentoftheirnewhome.So,itwasnosurprisethatBriggs’demandforthe peopleofTheDometosubmitformonitored“therapy”sessionswasmetwithlittle resistance.ThesurvivorsfilteredintoTheDome’smainhospitalinorderlylines.
Thelightswereablindingwhite,androwsuponrowsofcotsandbedswerespread intidyintervalsthroughouttheentireone-roomhospital.Alargemachinewaspositioned nexttoeachbedwithelastictubesandwireswrappedaroundthepostsonthefrontofthe computers.Asinglenurseinbrightbluescrubsledgroupsoffourintothelargeroom, assigningthemeachabed.Theysettledthemselvesin,andthenurseattachedwireswith soft,stickypadstotheirforeheads.
Sheinsertedpristinesilverneedlesintothepatients’forearms.Athicksilvery liquidhadbeguntofilterthroughthethintubingwhenthenursepressedaseriesof
buttonsonthemonitor.Theliquidflowedthroughthetubeinacontinuousstreamlong afterthepatientshadfallenintoapeacefulsleep.
ThatwaswhenBriggstookover.Asthenursemovedawaytomedicatethenext roundofpatients,Briggswouldvisiteachofthemachines,manipulatingtheindividual’s brainwavesuntiltheywerelinkedwiththosesurroundingpatients.Thiswasthepartof thetreatmentwhenBriggsplacedpeopleintotheDreamWorld.Asocietyentirelyofhis creation,onesogenuineandperfectthatnoonequestionedwhetheritwasreal.
Briggshadbeenonhisownforfifteenyearsnow,buthedidn’tmind.Witheveryone preservedinthealternaterealityhehadcreated,therewasnoonelefttokeephim companywhenhelefttheDreamWorldandlivedintheRealWorld.Itwasbetterthat way,though.
NothingpreventedBriggsfromvisitingtheDreamWorldwheneverhepleased,and, whenheleft,hewouldjusttelltheothershewasgoingonabusinessmeetingoutsideof TheDome,attemptingtobuildforeignrelationsandreconstructtheUnitedStatestoits formerglory.Thoughthiswasfarfromthetruth,hisliesweren’thurtinganyone.Onthe contrary,theywerehelping.
TheworldhehadconstructedwasaperfectversionofTheDome.Thelandand peoplewerehealthy,andeveryonegotalong.Everyone’sappearancewasfrozeninthe samestateaswhentheyhadfirstenteredtheDreamWorld.Everyonewashappyinthe worldhehadcreated,andwhatgavehimtherighttotakethathappinessawayfrom them?
Originally,BriggshadplannedtoallowpeopletogototheDreamWorldin designatedamounts,spendtimeinboththeRealWorldandhisperfectlycraftedutopia. However,themoreheallowedpatientsintotheutopiaduringthetreatment’stestrun,the worsetheirdepressionwaswhentheyreemergedintheRealWorld.Thepatientslonged tobebackinthepristineutopia…sowhentheopportunitycamealongforBriggstohelp othersexperiencethatsamehappiness,howcouldhedenythemthat?
Occasionally,therewouldbeahiccupinthesystem.Oneoftheoldercitizenswould passawayfromnaturalcausesoroneofthetubesfeedingthepatientswoulddisconnect, andthepatientwouldstarvetodeath.Todealwiththis,Briggswouldhavetomanually addthepersonintotheDreamWorld’scoding,creatingacodedcloneofwhothepatient usedtobe.Thesystemwasn’tperfect,butitwasn’tanythingBriggscouldn’thandle.For themostpart,everythingintheRealWorldandtheDreamWorldstayedthesame.This waswhywhenapatientwentmissing,Briggscouldonlygapeattheemptybed.
* * *
WhenNovawokeup,thefirstthingshenoticedwasthesilence.Hereyeshadpeeled openwithaheavyslowness,asifshehadn’tusedtheminyears.Thedeafeningsilence
causedashrillringinginherears.Herneckachedassheglancedaround.Nova’sheart skippedabeatwhenhereyesobservedtherowsofsleepingpeople.Theyallbreathedin thesamelaboredrhythm.
Nova’sheadspuninconfusion.Hadn’tshejustbeensittingonherlivingroomcouch withherfamily?Howdidshegethere?ThemetallicgrindofaslidingdoorstartledNova outofherthoughts.Shecouldn’tstayhere…whereverherewas.Hereyespannedquickly abouttheroom,andhergazelandedonasmallwindowaboutafootfromtheground.
Inherhurry,Novadidn’tnoticethepadsandwirestapedtoherhead.Theypulled tautwhenshetriedtomove,lockingherinplace.Novarippedfuriouslyatthewiresasshe stood.Herfeetlandedinacoolliquidthatsquishedunderthesolesofherfeet.She glancedtowardtheground,notingastraytubelyingafewfeetfromthemachine.It continuedpumpingasilverliquidontothecement,coatingtheareaaroundherhospital bedinthickgoo.
Alockclickedinthedistance,andNovadidn’twasteanymoretime.Shesprintedto thewindow,preparedtobreakitifshehadto.Novapressedherhandsagainstthe window,preparedtoforceitopen,butherreflectioncaughtherattention.Shecouldn’t helpbutstareinshock.Novadidnotrecognizethepersonwhostaredbackather.Thelast timeshehadseenherreflectionshehadbeenapetiteseven-year-oldwithathinlayerof fatroundingoutherface.Thispersonstaringbackathercouldn’tbeNova.Shedidn’tlook thismature.Gonewasthelayeroffatthatroundedouthercheeks.Ithadbeenreplacedby sunkencheekbonesandblackandbluebagsunderneathherchocolateeyes.
Novaranahandalongthesideofherface,gapingatherownreflection.Shejumped asthedoortotheroomshewasinhadbeguntocreakopen.Herhandsgrippedthebaseof thewindow,pryingitopen.
AbatchoficyairstungNova’sskinassheclamberedthroughthesmallopening.The gooonherfeetbegantofreezeasitmetwiththecoldair.Shesprintedthroughthedying grass.Itcrunchedbeneathhertoes,scrapingthebottomsofherfeetraw.Nova’slungs begantoburnfrombreathingthecoldair,andsweatraninjaggedtrailsdownherface.
AthickbanddugintoNova’sankleasshemovedtotakeastep.Shefellhardonto theground,blooderuptinginabitterstreamfromhernoseandmouth.Shespitoutawad ofgrassasanobjectcollidedwithherhead,knockingherunconscious.
* * *
Nova’sforeheadthrobbedinanuncomfortablerhythm,andshetastedbloodinher mouthassheregainedconsciousness.Shereachedtowardherachingtemple,buther handdidn’tmove.Shetriedtoturnherheadbuttonoavail.Novacouldn’tmoveanything otherthanhereyes.Someonecoughedbehindher,andNovafeltherheartclench.
Shejumpedinsurpriseasawomenappearedinfrontofher.Thewomanbentdown togetacloserlookatNova.Havingcompletedherobservations,thewomantookastep back,glaringinNova’sdirection.
“Didn’tthinktherewasanyoneelseleft,”mumbledthewoman.
“Whoareyou?”demandedNova.
Thewomanignoredthequestion.Instead,shepacedthelengthofthesmallroom, leavingatrailofdustyfootprintsbehindher.
“Therehasn’tbeenanyonenewforfifteenyears.It’sbeensolongIassumed everyonewasgone.”
Thewomanceasedherpacingforamoment.
“Wherewereyouhidingout?”
“Tellmewhoyouarefirst,”saidNova.
Thewomanwassilentforamoment,holdingNova’sgazejustlongenoughtomake herinsidescoilinuneasiness.
“Charlotte.Icreatedthesafehousewe’reinnow.”
“Safehouse?Whywouldyouneedasafehouse?”
Thewoman—Charlotte—leanedinuntilshewasinchesfromNova’sface.
“Iansweredyourquestion.Nowyouanswermine.”
“MynameisNova,andIwasn’thidingout.Iwassittingonmycouchandthen…” Novatrailedoff.
“Andthen?”demandedCharlotte.
“AndthenIwasn’tonmycouchanymore.Iwasinaroomwithhundredsofsleeping people.Iheardsomeonecoming,soIran.”
NovacringedagainstthebackofherchairasCharlottereachedbehindher, removingasmallknifefromherpocket.Novasqueezedhereyesshutasshewaitedforthe stingofawoundthatnevercame.
Novaopenedhereyesasthebondsthatheldhercaptivefellaway.Charlotte steppedawayfromNova,movingtowardaholeinthewallandbeckoningforNovato follow.
“Wherearewegoing?”
“Nowherespecial.”
* * *
TheroomNovawasledintowasjustasshabbyasthelast.Asmallgroupofpeople weregatheredinthecenteroftheroom,sittingaroundawobblytable.
“Allright,listenup,”saidCharlotteasshebargedthroughadoorbarelyheldtothe framebyitshinges.
ThelightchatterthatfilledtheroommomentsagowassquashedbyCharlotte’s voice.Thegrouphadsettheircardsanddrinksontothetableinstantly,turningtheirfull attentiontoCharlotte.
“Wehaveasituation,”declaredCharlotteassheclappedNovaontheshoulder. “NovahereisfromTheHospital.She’soneoftheSleepers.”
“Hospital?Sleepers?Idon’tunderstand,”saidNova.
Apetiteblondegirlwithbraideddreadlockspipedupfromthecornerofthetable.
“Youwereinamedicallyinducedstateofsleep.Yourbodywasasleep,butyour mindwasinasimulationofTheDome.Itwaspartofamentalhealthtreatmentplan.”
“Thisplacedoesn’tlookanythinglikewhereIcamefrom.Maybebeinginthere wasn’tsuchabadthing,”saidNovaassheglancedaroundtheroom.
“It’sonlyagoodthingifyoudon’tmindbeingtrappedinsideyourownheadwithno wayout,”repliedthegirl.
“Novabeinghereprovesthatpeoplecanbewokenup,”interjectedCharlotte.
“Great.Exceptwedon’tknowhowtowakepeopleup.Rememberwhathappened lasttime?”saidtheblondegirl.
“Whathappenedlasttime?”askedNova.
“Hedidn’tevenmakeitoutofhisbed,”answeredthegirl.
* *
Briggsdraggedahandalonghisscalp,glancingatthesleepingpatients.Hedropped thetubesbackintothegoo,movingtowardhisstudyattachedtothesideofTheHospital. Hesatonacouchnearadarkenedwindow,attachingwirestohisforeheadandspinninga dialonthemachinethatwasnexttohim.Thenumber15glowedonthedial,andaclock begantickingdowntheminutesasBriggswassuckedintoTheDreamWorld.
* * *
Charlotte’screwdidn’thaveanyissueswhentheysnuckintoTheHospital.Noone wasawaketocatchthem.Novaledthegroup,leadingthemtoherbedattheendofoneof themanyrows.Thegroupexamineditforamoment,pickingupthetubesandwiresNova discardedduringherescape,hopingtouncoverthesecrettowakingpeopleup.Charlotte ranherhandsalongit,feelingtinypuncturesinitscasing.
“There’sholesinthis,”saidCharlotte.“Thefluidmust’vestartedleakingout.”
“Wedon’thavetimetowasteweeningpeopleoffit.Briggswouldnotice,”saidoneof Charlotte’sgroupmembers.
“Thentheonlyotheroptionwehaveistomesswiththemachine.”
“Ithoughtyousaidyoualreadytriedtowakesomeoneupthatwayanditdidn’t work,”interjectedNova.
Charlotteignoredherandturnedtowardthemachine.
NovareachedouttostopCharlottefrompressingbuttons,butshewastoolate.The womanwhowasattachedtothemachinebegantothrashandconvulse.
Briggswalkedthroughthepristinestreetsofhisutopia,searchingforaclueasto howsomeoneexitedTheDreamWorld.Hepausedattheendofanarrowstreetwherea womanstoodwateringherflowers.Briggsglancedaway,turningtowalkbackthewayhe came.Whenheturnedtoleave,hiseyeslandedonthespotwherethewomanhadbeen wateringflowersmomentsago.Thehoseshehadbeenusingwasleftrunningonthelawn, butthewomanwasnowheretobeseen.
Novastumbledawayfromthebed.Fearrippledthroughherchestinnauseating waves.Charlottecontinuedpressingbuttonsuntilthewomanstoppedmovingandher breathingstoppedentirely.Charlottecursedunderherbreath,preparingtomoveontothe nextbed.Novasteppedforwardtoblockherpath.
“Wait.I’ll…I’lltrytofigurethisout.Maybemysubconsciouswillknowsomething afterhavingbeenintheDreamWorld.”
NovatookCharlotte’splaceandtappedthemachine’sscreenwiththetipofher finger.
Itlitupwithahum,andNovastaredatthescreeninconfusion.Theiconsonthe screenmadenosensetoher.Shepickedoneatrandom.Theliquidbegantoflowintothe bodyfaster.Novastoppedthesequenceshehadactivated,carefullydecidingonthenext buttontopress.Avacuumingsounderuptedfromthemachineasshepressedthenext button.
Startled,Novasteppedbackastheliquidbegantodrainfromthetube,andtheboy whowasconnectedtothemachinebegantotwitchandgaspforair.Thevacuuming stopped,andthebodylaidunmovingonthebedsheets.Foramoment,nothinghappened. Thenthebody’schesthadbeguntoriseandfallevenly.Hiseyesopenedsecondslater,and arelievedsighfilledtheroom.
ThiswaswhenthedoortothelabslammedopentorevealBriggs.Hecharged towardthegroup,buthewasnotstrongenoughtofightthemall.Theypinnedhimdown, strappinghimtothebed,andinsertinganeedleandtubeintohisarm.Briggsdidn’ttryto stoptheliquidfromflowingfromthemachineintohisbody.Hiseyesclosedshortlyafter.
NovastaredatBriggsforamoment.Theotherswalkedfrombedtobed,waking peopleupfromtheirslumber.Nova’sfeetcarriedherawayfromthelab,takingherinto Briggs’study.Shelookedaroundtheroom,andhereyescaughtonanenvelopeplaced neatlyontopofthedeskinthecorner.Hernamewasscrawledneatlyinitscenter.She openeditandpulledouttheletterinside.
Nova,
After Mom and Dad died in the war, you were so devastated and scared. I wanted to help you, but I’ve never been good with emotions. So, I turned to science and created a simulation that I could control. I suppressed your tragic memories of The Real World once you were in The Dream World and allowed you to live without any knowledge of Mom and Dad passing or war destroying our home.
You were at peace there. Happy and healed. I couldn’t justify denying the kind of peace and happiness you experienced to others. I know there will be people who will paint me as a monster, but I did what I thought was best. I would do it all again to make you happy.
I love you,
Briggs
Novadroppedtheletterasshefellontothecouch,messingwiththemachinetoput herselfinTheDreamWorld.
WhenNovaappearedinTheDreamWorld,sheknewsomethingwaswrong.The vibrantcolorsoftheworldweredulledtoagray.Thestreetswerecracked,andbuildings werecavinginwards.
Briggsstoodinthecenterofthedesertedroad.Neitheronespoke.Theyjuststared ateachother.Finally,Briggssteppedforward,wrappingNovaintoabonecrushinghug.
“What’sgoingtohappentoyou?”whisperedNova.
Briggsglancedatthegraysky,sighingastheworldaroundthembegantocrumble tonothing.
“I’mgoingtobewithMomandDad.”
Suddenly,thepressureofBriggs’sarmsaroundherwasgone,andNovaawokeon thecouchinherbrother’sstudy.
Itwasasuddenfeeling,thefrigidtemperatureofthewater.Thecoldprickledacross myblackskin,funnelingintothedeepestreachesofmybones.Itshookoffthedrowsiness thatweigheddownmyback,heavyontheribcagethatstirredwiththefaintestsignsof heldbreath.Sunlightfloodedmytiredeyesastheypeeledopen.Itwaswhiteand refractedasitbreachedthroughthesurface—warminspiteofitssurroundings.
Thedarkhadpassed.
Tapestries 2023-2024
Weaving the Threads of Creativity & Innovation 
