April 2015

April 2015

Midnight Writers

Table of Contents Cover: “Vault 713,” a photograph by Bandersnatch Page 11: Which I am Not Good,” a poem by A.T. Pacem This Page: “Calypso’s Island,” an illustration by Hec- “In “In Which I am Not Evil,” a poem by A.T. Pacem ate

Page 3: Ask Aphro & Dite 

Advice on a Love Potion gone wrong

Calypso’s Island:

“In Which I am Neither Good nor Evil,” a poem by A.T. Pacem “Who is It,” an illustration by Hecate “Good vs. Evil,” a poem by The Teumessian Fox “Hungry,” a poem by Luna Moon Sparkles

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Page 12:

Page 4:

Page 13:

“Ghost of a Child,” a poem by Asteria “Spring Innocence,” a photograph by Japanda3 “Little Bit Lost,” a photograph by The Owlish Bookworm “Magic,” a poem by Iris Rainbow “A Shower of Spring,” a poem by Echo

“Her Descent,” a short story by Janus “His Ascent,” a short story by Janus

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The Lady of the Underworld on solved mysteries and te“Into the Fire,” a poem by Nike dious jobs “Sherbert Lemon,” a photograph by Bandersnatch Echo’s Echo “Good vs. Evil Rap Battle,” a rap by Luna Moon Sparkles  Our favorite nymph is out, violent blossom is in

“Hold On,” a poem by Bandersnatch “Bouquet,” an illustration by Calliope “Of Roots and Vines,” an illustration by Winter “Loves Me Not,” a poem by The Owlish Bookworm

Page 6: “Windowsill,” a poem by A.T. Pacem “Fortune’s Folly,” an illustration by Calliope “Rain on My Parade,” a photograph by Calypso “Bittersweet Strings,” a poem by Vivian Griselda “Sustenance,” a poem by Aradia

Page 7: “Universal Child,” a poem by Aradia “The Moon,” a poem by Asteria “The Story of a Girl,” a poem by Rabid Fairy “Moonshine,” a photograph by khokokat

Page 8: “If Books Were Ex-Boyfriends,” a list by Hades “Welcome Home,” a photograph by Bandersnatch

Page 9: “Platform Nine and Three Quarters,” a poem by Apollo “Divination Exam,” a poem by Zenyatta “Guardian of the Sky,” a photograph by Bandersnatch

Page 10: “Memorial,” a poem by Zenyatta “Scars,” a poem by The Owlish Bookworm “Harry,” an illustration by khokokat “Hermione,” an illustration by khokokat

“Understanding the Weather,” a short story by Rabid Fairy “Weight of the World,” an illustration by Hecate “Carnival Tail: Chapter Seven,” a story by Calypso

Page 16: “Carnival Tail,” continued “Jellyfishmaid Fashion,” an illustration by Hecate

issuu.com/midnightwriters midnightwriters2015@gmail.com

Ask Aphro & Dite

Calypso’s Island

Echo’s Echo

Dear Aphrodite, I'm in a bit of a pickle. I tried making a love potion for Valentine's Day, and I gave it to this boy I've had a crush on since first year. It worked well, but a little too well. He's still completely infatuated with me. It was fantastic the first day, but I don't want this anymore. I wanted him to like me for me, but I know that it's just because of the potion that he's still with me. I don't know what I did wrong with the potion, but I haven't been able to fix it, and I can't go to a professor about it because what I did broke about twenty school rules. Please help!

Yours, Hopeless at Hogwarts Dearest Hopeless, Oh dearest, darlingest, child. When will you learn? When you want foolproof instant artificial love, you call me, OK? But what’s done is done, so let’s see. The first thing I would go for is the potion book you got this particular brew from.

Look very closely—you may have missed some of the fine print. If you can figure out what went wrong from there, then either run off to the library to find out how to fix it or just ask the closest Muggle-born to use The Google to find the answer. I’ve heard it’s a new god, but he won’t join Olympus because he must live among his people, or computers rather. But I digress.

The second option is to try some spells. I hear that one you all use, the one that sounds a bit like Stupefy may work. Knock the fellow down enough times and he may snap out of it. There is always the option of waiting for it to wear off. I mean, honestly. Though it might be getting old, how often is someone going to be this in love with you? Probably never, seeing as it’s manufactured love. But that’s not important. The point is to just live in the moment and do the stupid things that Hogwarts students do. Congratulations, you’ve completed your brainless teenage requirement! Really, if all else fails, you probably can go to the professor. You have two options if you choose to do so. One is to just say that you found him like that, and then have the professor do what they may. The other is to tell the truth, which may yield better results. The only reason I suggest this is because your professor probably did something similarly stupid during his or her years at Hogwarts. They’re a Potions Professor for Zeus’ sake! They must have brewed at least a few illegal love potions.

So go with one of those, and you should be all right. But for future reference, you could always tell the object of your affections how you feel.

Perhaps when the poor fellow has regained his wits you can tell him that you like him. Be confident, be yourself, and who knows? He could be quite the suitor. On the other hand, it may just be more efficient to call me next time.

Best of Luck, Dite

Dear Calypso, Sorry about the confusion earlier. It’s all a bit complex and difficult to explain, but I had to steal the Helm. I was in a spot of trouble, and I needed the Helm immediately. I would’ve asked, but one of the conditions of my quest was that I couldn’t tell anyone. I’m terribly sorry, and I hope that you’ll be able to forgive me. I hid the Helm in the Garden of the Hesperides, and it’s still there. I’m not allowed to lay my hands on it again, but I’ve been having Ladon keep an eye over it. Don’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson, and nothing like this will ever happen again.

Yours, Artemis P.S. – that being said, you should really look into a better security system.

Well, I just received that in the mail. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me. I’d be insulted if I weren’t so worried; it must’ve been truly terrible if she couldn’t say a word to anyone about it. I just wonder who forced her to do all this. I guess that’s a mystery for another day, though.

Anyway, happy April, Midnight Writers!

Luckily, I’m quite shielded from any pollen down here in the Underworld, although I heard you’ve been having a lot of rain to wash it all away. Hopefully the anemoi will continue to look favorably upon you.

Speaking of favors, Hermes asked me for a strange one the other day. He wants me to watch over his package and shipping industry for a day while he takes care of some business on earth.

Something about a camp and half-bloods? Anyway, I’m inclined to help him. I’ve always wanted to give it a try, and he left comprehension instructions for me. As long as I don’t pull a Pandora, I should be fine. Plus, it would be a nice change from the grind of running the Underworld. Not that I don’t love my job, but I have to admit, it’s a bit dark. It’s not called the Underworld for kicks and giggles.

While we’re on the topic of jobs I’d like to have, I’ve always been envious of Hecate. I mean, goddess of magic? That’s awesome in its own right, but she also oversees all the magical academies and schools. I heard there was one— Hogwarts, I believe—that was nearly exposed because some mortal got it in her head to write a book series on it. Can you believe it? Someone trusting you with such an enormous secret, and you go write a series on it? Unbelievable.

In any event, you mortals know all about it now, so there’s really nothing to be done except enjoy the magic. See you next month!

Hello, citizens of the D.C. Metropolitan Area! I understand that this is your so-called “favorite” nymph Echo’s column, but due to unfortunate circumstances, she is not available to feature in this month’s magazine.

Unfortunate circumstances as in I smacked her square in the face with one of my branches, and she is still knocked out cold. So here I am to sub in for her this month.

Call me Cher. I’m one of the innumerable cherry blossom trees scattered around this nice little area called Potomac. While I’d prefer to be back home in Japan, I’d say I have it pretty good here compared to my counterparts in D.C. being ogled at all day and appearing in one too many cherry blossom festival selfies. But one of the perks of D.C. living is the National Park Service-level protection.

That’s right, pick off a blossom from a tree and you’ll be slapped with a hefty fine. While I reside in a quiet, serene neighborhood and can avoid the chaos that is called D. C. tourists, I don’t have any sort of defense whatsoever. So when people decide they can mess around with me, I have to take matters into my own hands. Or more like my swinging arms.

This is where Echo comes in. She was skipping around, rather chirpy, probably because of the gorgeous weather outside. When her eyes laid sight on me, they lit up, and she ran underneath my branches. She took out a journal and a pen, looked up to admire the cherry blossoms adorned on my branches, and began writing what I believe is a poem. It was a nice sight and everything was going well until she reached up to grab a branch and did what I hated the most: pull it down and release it back up, where a plethora of pink petals will expel out and scatter to the ground. Seeing my poor little babies fall to the ground, detached from their home on my branches, absolutely infuriated me, so I swung hard at that evil nymph and got her good. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll be up and running in no time.

Well, seems like my time here is limited.

With the rain coming soon, I’ll only have so much time with my cherry blossoms before the precipitation knocks them off. Sorry for

Special thanks to Sra. Steele, Calypso, Echo, Hecate, the Owlish Bookworm, and Bandersnatch 3

A Shower of Spring

By Echo I stand underneath The arms of the blossom tree Shielding me from sun I grasp on a branch Sturdy and rough to the touch Pull down, and let go I stand underneath Cascading ribbons of pink Petals smooth as silk Tickling my skin Their descent like waterfalls Showering on me Covering me in A warm surrounding embrace In the arms of spring

“Spring Innocence,” Photograph by Japanda3

Ghost of a Child

By Asteria

By Iris Rainbow

Where is that wild-eyed, barefooted child, who was one with the wind and the rain and the sun, who danced through the meadows and wild woods, whose eyes were alight with the fire of discovery, and the golden luster of innocent youth?

I knew her once, That little girl of summer storms and silent snowfall.

I loved her once, That beautiful sprite of dreams and fairytales.

I was her once, that wondrous phantom of whispering breeze and starlit nights.

But alas, no more.

Her gentle soul was crushed by callous hands, her steady flame snuffed out, 'till all that remained was a pale, paltry shell, the ghost of a child, the taste of regret, a shadow where there once was light.

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Magic

“Little Bit Lost,” Photograph by The Owlish Bookworm

Magic is everywhere you look.

Not just in storybooks or on your Nook.

Magic can come from luck Or from wishes coming true.

Magic can be from getting an A on your test without studying, A sometimes unrealistic wish.

So don’t just find magic in a storybook.

Go out and see the world to experience magic for yourself.

Hold On

By Bandersnatch the world is pushing me forward grabbing me by the back of my shirt-collar and dragging me into a future of unknowns "leave aside your stories and games" they say, "you belong no more in the world of toys and play" too many decisions and choices to make what should i do when my future’s at stake?

I want to hold on To dreams and magic And wishes and luck I don't want to let go I don't want to lose hope i don't want to let go.

“Of Roots and Vines,” Illustration by Winter

Loves Me Not

By The Owlish Bookworm He loves me.

He loves me Not. Broken heart, Broken bones, Shattered spirit, Those sticks and stones.

They really do hurt.

Loves you not.

“Bouquet,” Illustration by Calliope

Stay in the garden, And make-believe, That love is real, That he won’t see.

See through your facade See your splinters, Your flaws, Your failures.

So pluck the petals, Watch them fall, And know he’ll never Love you at all.

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Windowsill

By A.T. Pacem

i hate this, i hate this i hate how you lured me in and let me purify every bit of your damned soul only for you to revert back into your haunted figurine on the windowsill not stoic but gleeful eyes jubilant as my soul within you withered to your taste demons are not miniature devils sprinting through forests with pitchforks the same color as their eyes they are not fairytales, words lost in time to scare children to going to bed they are not punishment for the dead but rather the living they are not the bliss felt when the year old whiskey hits your blood i felt the dissonance when our lips first made contact i felt the sin at your grazing of teeth i felt the emptiness in my chest cavity and it ate me out alive as i let all human conscience slip from between the crevices of thought and still my hand rested upon your skin where a heart should lie beneath “Rain on My Parade,” Photograph by Calypso

Bittersweet Strings

By Vivian Griselda

In this life I was born your puppet, Destined to be nothing more than a painted face.

Being controlled by you, above by the push of a button, All of your trails somehow never leave a trace.

You steer me left even though I know to veer right, Spontaneously you spin me around and around.

Put me down while I reach for the sky, I keep searching for a way out But it’s exactly nothing that I’ve found.

You take control of all of these strings, Those flowers we grew used to stand so tall.

Wishing I could fly away with a pair of innocent wings, But we still breathe heavily in this dark hall.

Whispering words of wisdom to the widow, How considerate and kind of you.

Discreetly slipping secrets into my pillow, I look out to the window and gaze at the sky so blue.

In another life I was born so much more than your puppet, A sweet romance would dwell, And our love would never plummet.

Sustenance

By Aradia

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“Fortune’s Folly,” Illustration by Calliope

Drink the blue, let it consume For all its loss and spoken plume Tonight you drink alone, my dear For all your anxieties, worries, and fears To toast your sadness, your pain, your grief Survive, to thrive is ne'r your motif Though people be 'round You ne'r have found The place you're meant to be Tonight you drink to be free

Universal Child

By Aradia

We're humbled by the night sky, they say The sun is so small, the universe yet bigger The earth is so small, and humans are minuscule She could wipe us away with a swipe of her hand If she so pleases, the universal fickle mother I find a different tune to sing Black holes devoured and spit up their prey Tearing apart planets and dark matter Hungry and ruthless, crumbs of galaxies Fall from their mouths in the hopes that I Could exist near them Made with dark matter and energy I am infinite gravity and power The stars exploded and collided again Crashing and burning in explosions of light, Color and sound falling like ash Scattering their bodies across the universe To bring forth the being that is me Because I am their destiny I am stardust and glory

The Story of a girl

By Rabid Fairy I once met a girl who held the universe inside her Never had there been a mystery as vast as she was Her tongue held the secrets of ancient civilizations Histories and memories lost in her lips Stories of entire alien races stuck to the inside of her throat And the words she spoke were the shockwaves of a supernova explosion Blasts of star dust that swallowed entire worlds whole Devouring forgotten stories that tasted of sweet honey Her mind held the entirety of the cosmos Death, chaos, and destruction Life, beauty, and birth Light years of creation so immense That people forgot their own names when she whispered her truths The beat of her heart was the violent pulsing of a neutron star Fragile and unforgiving Threatening to cave in on itself and open a black hole The very look of her screamed danger Mysteries, secrets, forgotten tales, and delicacy She was beauty and she was destruction Wrapped in the body of a girl

The sun baked the earth and brought it to life Burning, screaming at the planet to wake A fiery eye that glares forever Waiting until I became myself Waiting for me to rise from the muck I am sun and fire The earth brought life on its surface The earliest creatures slogging through mud Dying, killing, living, adapting Each must die to further the other To become what is I I am the pinnacle of evolution I am earth and strength No matter what passes, I am myself For the universe tells me so I am not apologetic about being me I am not apologetic about being of earth and galaxy

The Moon

By Asteria The moon.

A luminescent orb of silvery light, ascending nightly to guide the wolves and hunters in their mystical dance, to rejoice with the spirit of the tawny cat, who at last is free from pain and suffering, free to prowl 'cross the darkened hills, and to soothe the fitful children as they mourn their lost companion.

And then we go to school, and they tell us it is just a lump of rock. “Moonshine,� Photograph by khokokat

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If Books Were ExBoyfriends

was just kind of juvenile, and while that was fine at first, you eventually grew out of it and

By Hades began wanting someone more Harry Potter: The first love. The grown-up. You didn’t want to one you grew up with. You were change him, though. He was perfect as he was, just not for you. the best of friends as children, but he was also best friends with Later, you heard that he had matured in the end, but you kind of everyone else, and he only became more and more popular as liked him better before. we got older. You didn’t realize Twilight: The regret. You were your feelings for him had surboth young, not as worldly as passed “platonic” until you reached awkward, hormonal pu- you thought you were, and frankly, kind of stupid for each berty, when you began dating. other. After the break-up, this As a friend and boyfriend, he definitely helped better you as a was the one who made you seriperson. But he moved away, so ously question your taste, and friends knew not to bring him up you broke it off amicably. in conversation unless they wanted to experience a rant Chronicles of Narnia: The sweetheart. He was very polite, about shallow, pretentious men.

Over time, you came to well-mannered, and good with kids. Sometimes he could get a acknowledge some of his relittle religious, but you learned to deeming qualities and wonder what if some things had been work with it. Your relationship different. started off a bit awkward, but you soon hit it off and had some Sherlock Holmes: The nerd. He fun--and very PG--adventures. never ran out of interesting stoAfter a while, though, he changed, almost into a complete- ries to tell, to the point that you sometimes doubted if any of it ly different person. Maybe if you’d stuck it out longer, things was true, but you never really doubted it. He’s probably one of would have been different, but you’ll never know the next chap- the smartest guys you’ve ever met, and you constantly found ter. yourself in awe of his sheer intelligence. He had his cool moPercy Jackson: The immature ments, and he had his posh moone. Not to say it was bad, per se. He was definitely fun, inter- ments, but honestly, you always esting, and thoughtful, and you knew that deep down he was a geek, albeit a geek worthy of his learned quite a lot for him. He

8

own fan-geeks.

seemed to you too real for comfort and at other times outlandLotR/Hobbit: The crush come ish. Towards the end, he got way true. You used to admire him too dark and bitter for your taste, from afar and stalk him on Face- and you certainly did not end on book. You romanticized him. He the best note. But still, you did had so much stuff going on, but have some fun times. he pulled it all off nearflawlessly. He was funny. He Great Gatsby: The blind date. was serious. He was advenThe two of you were set up by turous. He was thoughtful. He people who swore that you was chivalrous. You landed a would love him. You had your date, and a relationship, and you doubts at first, but while he wasfound out that he wasn’t as per- n’t exactly Mr. Darcy, he wasn’t fect as he seemed on screen--and the worst guy you’d ever met, yes, he could be boring someand you enjoyed your time totimes--but you still loved him. gether. He could be a bit boring at times, but he managed to conPride and Prejudice: The older sistently keep your interest. Ultiman. At the time, he seemed too mately, your relationship was old-fashioned and often talked short, but not horrible. However, about things beyond your com- to this day, you still harbor susprehension and years. After a picions that he may have been while, though, you came to apgay. preciate his classy taste, romanticism, and traditional but openSong of Ice and Fire: The bad minded values, and he became boy. You had no idea what you the new standard by which you were getting into when you startjudged all other men--and found ed dating. Some people thought the others lacking. The one you you were hot together, others would love to meet up with over were horrified that you were incoffee, even just to have some volved with him. He cussed a intellectual discussion. lot, was very into sex, and got into fights once or twice. Your Hunger Games: The political relationship got tedious someone. He wasn’t the most special, times, but you stuck with him interesting, or unique person because he brought excitement you’d ever met, but he definitely into your life. At the end, kept things interesting, and he though, you got tired of waiting came in a good-looking package. around for him all the time so He had some pretty sarcastic and you dumped him. cynical views, which at times

“Welcome Home,” Photograph by Bandersnatch

Platform Nine and Three Quarters

By Apollo Hustling and bustling All across King’s Cross Station Familiar Faces And some strange ones too.

Continuous wondering What the new year brings.

Who will win the cup?

Who will make the Quidditch team?

What about classes?

Excitement galore As it fills the station air Wizards and Witches

Divination Exam

By Zenyatta Look into the crystal ball...

Tell me, tell me what you see!

Why Professor, naught at all, I'm no Seer, no-no, not me.

You are easily discouraged, Do not turn away, my dear.

Fear not future, just have courage, Strength to lift the veil of years.

But Professor, I cannot See a thing in this plain ball, Not a swirl, not a dot!

Like I said—nothing at all!

Very well, you did you best, You tried hard- I know for sure.

Tell the student waiting next To come in and shut the door.

Prepared to depart.

There are some parents crying Some hugging their kids

For it is goodbye Until December arrives.

But they must move quick For the train will leave It will not wait forever Time is valuable When you’re on a quest To defeat Lord Voldemort.

Who will reach success?

And who will just fail?

Only time can tell us that So we’ll have to wait.

Come let us go now!

Platform Nine and Three Quarters Is where it begins.

“Guardian of the Sky,” Photograph by Bandersnatch

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Memorial

“Harry,” Illustration by khokokat

By Zenyatta (To all those who died at the Final Battle at Hogwarts)

We will remember you sacrifice, We will not forget your heroics.

You battled fearlessly heat and ice, Against all enemy forces stoic.

For Hogwarts you fell, So that we might live, Our futures brighter than ever.

For centuries on, your stories we'll tell, Unable to lose them forever.

The enemy terrible was on that night And sorely outnumbered we were.

But you all put up a magnificent fightYour spells and your aim did not err.

We stand today to honor your lives, To pay our respects to your graves.

Thank you our brothers, our parents, our wives, For the freedom to us that you gave!

Scars

By The Owlish Bookworm

Skin deep, Mind deep, Soul deep Scars.

They’ll never leave you So find a way To escape.

Run from the memories Flee from the pain.

Simmer and blister, Then wait to break.

Pick up your pieces And rise from the ashes.

But soul deep scars, Those are different.

How to fix?

How to mend?

There isn’t a cure, Just wait for the end.

Or don’t Sob your thanks for being You could always Fight back. alive, Weep your agony in bePatience, Ronald. ing the ones to survive.

Give in, Hermione.

They mark your past, But don’t lose patience, Will cripple your future don’t give up Only if you let them.

On Harry.

Let skin deep scars Fight back, Harry.

Whiten and shrivel, Time heals those wounds. Soul-scarred.

Be willing to give, Give your heart, your all.

Be the Boy Who Lived.

Let mind deep scars 10

“Hermione,” Illustration by khokokat

In Which I Am Not Evil

By A.T. Pacem

i am not evil i am the warmth of the flames in winter’s worst tantrums i am the embrace of a loved one after a long night through the maze of life and the sweet brushing of lips against yours i will hold you and count the stars upon your skin tracing all until my brain has memorized every curve with grace because my heart beats to the rhythm of your name i will wake on blessed mornings with your soft laughter in my ears and with the springtime breeze and the scent of home enveloping me whole as i lay in your arms i will hold your gaze in mine and never forget that curve of your smile i will turn into the waves that bend to the will of the moon i will laugh with every press of your holy lips i will remember your voice when i am far, far from home i am not evil i am not evil

In Which I Am Not Good

By A.T. Pacem

i am not good i am not flowers and rainbows and chivalry and bravery i am not the tree that protects from the soft rain nor the powerful ocean waves that draw back the shark do not call me when you’re drunk on foreign memories or crying over the pieces left of me that i left on your bed because i will ignore you and leave you, leave you cry and sob while i leave the phone on speaker in a darkened alleyway in the middle of some city we disgraced with our presence i will not look your way again as you crumble to sand i will not smile when i find your clothes rumpled in the back of my closet i will not remember our shared laughter in the corners of nighttime i will not recall loving you when my heart’s gone cold i am not good i am not good

In Which I Am Neither Good nor Evil

By A.T. Pacem

i am not good but i am not evil either i am both, because to be wholly good or wholly evil is inhumane and i am the only thing i can be pain is not deception but neither is peace love can be feigned and twisted and mutilated turned into a demon in the face of angels and i am no angel to restore the life once lost instead i am the human who grows the forest from the wake of disaster and rebuilds with flowing rivers of gold with stars to adorn my imperfect skin with the thoughtful gaze of the moon to guide me to be wholly good or wholly evil is humane and because of that, i am what pure evil and pure good lust after I am human.

“Who is It,” Illustration by Hecate

Good vs. Evil

Hungry

By Luna Moon Sparkles

Laying here Trapped inside On an angels wing The demons eye Laughing and running No where to go Dancing as i sing No where to hide Friends all around Stuck on my own Oh, the wonderful sounds Oh, so alone Everything alive Nothing but death Everything light Nothing but dark All around is revived Holding on to every last breath With nothing to fight Afraid of the spark Open and free Hiding in a corner All together with glee Left like a mourner

90000 unemployed.

In eight years will there be an even bigger horde?

Will I be one of the bored?

Life's a competition.

Don't wanna be ignored.

I am a baby tiger in disguise.

I am required to sink my teeth into life.

I wanna be the queen of the ravine.

More like king of the world.

By The Teumessian Fox

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Into the Fire

By Nike

But the woman never seemed to realize that he was there Meanwhile, The Other Man carried her into a passionate romance.

Into the fire that lay ahead.

The heat engulfed her and soon She found herself struggling to breathe, for the smoke was too thick.

But her heart continued to race and the smoke filled her lungs.

She lost all she had ever gained, but The Other Man was worth it to her.

There once was a man named Gabriel.

He fell in love with a woman.

The woman was soft and sweet, the key to his completion.

He wanted her hand in marriage, but she never seemed to notice his gaze.

He tried to send her letters expressing his feelings, but they would go unread.

He smiled at her, but she turned a blind eye.

He reached to her when she cried, but she Gabriel almost gave up the woman pushed his arms away.

Until he had a dream.

The woman was trapped inside a burning But The Other Man was charismatic, house, and he could not save her. handsome as anything.

He could only watch her flesh burn.

The Other Man captured her Gabriel awoke sobbing, and prayed his fears with a flash of a smile. would not become fate.

Grabbed her heart with his bare hands, squeezing it until she burst with love But the woman was covered in burns.

She grabbed his hand and leaped into the She loved the hot feelings of lust and desire. fiery romance that awaited And continued to venture into the fire, blind.

Gabriel lay watching, silently sniffling to himself He tried to recreate the fire, but could not breathe such warmth.

He wanted to love her and hold her all night He wanted to be her everything The title was waiting, the title was his.

Gabriel went to save her.

He ran into the flames, fought hard through the pain.

His skin was blackened by the heat, His lungs were shriveled, But he breathed on.

Determined to find the woman he loved.

Good vs. Evil Rap

Gabriel made it through the flames.

Knelt down beside her And professed his love.

The woman teared up as she reached to take his hand.

But The Other Man grabbed her and pulled her away.

He said he loved her more, that things were better this way.

The woman looked deeply into his eyes.

Then she embraced him, and went back into the fire.

Gabriel went deeper into this hell to rescue her.

Her skin was scarred, Her heart punctured, Her eyes drooped, Her lungs, barely breathing.

She was a mess of a girl.

Then for the last time she looked in to The Other Man’s eyes and bid him goodbye She ran into Gabriel’s arms, greeting him with a gentle kiss And then they ascended into ultimate bliss.

Battle

By Luna Moon Sparkles

Being good is great.

I'm the founding fate.

Everyone follows me cause I'll lead you to the pearly gates.

Happiness and success is what you'll get out of me.

Endless buffets and fluffy trees will meet you in the breeze.

Evil,evil, evil You think I'm so bad.

You're just jealous cause I started a new fad.

I strive for me.

I don't care about you.

You've just started crying cause I popped your balloon.

You think you can come in here and ruin my style.

My beliefs have founded every civilization in life.

You think being mean will win your battles?

Last time I checked people like you Were hanging from towers.

Wow you're so funny.

Here's a history lesson, honey.

My evilness brought Napoleon and Rome to the throne.

It's funny how you talk about things that are already dead.

Let's be real. If you wanna last for eternity, Follow me to the golden freakin’ throne.

“Sherbert Lemon,” Photograph by Bandersnatch

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Her Descent

By Janus

She used to be beautiful. With fiery breath, she leveled worlds, smiling as she walked on smoldering remains, now only gray ash. Her eyes seared flesh with a glance and her flaming wings engulfed planets. She was passion, fire personified, the avenging angel of the Lord. She slew demons with her red-hot sword, their flesh sloughing off as they screamed.

Forever wading through lakes of blood and mountains of viscera, dead man’s ash blew into her shining face. It covered her battered golden armor, settling into every crevice. Its rancid taste remained as she licked her crimson lips.

Her allegiance had always been to Heaven. Until one conquest, when the others fled from her once more. The anger boiled inside her like hot magma as she was alone, again. Why did she have to fight, ripping and tearing until all that was left was gore? Why did she have to suffer when her brother and sisters frolicked in Paradise?

His Ascent

By Janus

He had been trapped in the frosted shallows of an icy lake for eons. Under the lip of one of the wings of the Great Dragon, a beast also entrenched in the ice, his only relief from the numbing cold was when its wings flapped and warmed his frigid body. Among the other frozen demons, his companions for millennia, he would scream. Nothing but icy puffs would come out of his mouth.

Waves as cold as glaciers would wash over him, and for a few terrifying seconds, he’d choke on the chilly water. He bobbed up and down softly in the current, and sometimes his wingtips would touch the murky lake bottom.

He stared up at the cavern ceiling, glittering with stalactites and dripping water. Plops of water would drop on his nose every few decades, and as they rolled down his pallid face, he wished he could cry.

He had suffered in silence for so long, he forgot his sins that had damned him.

Memories were useless in Hell. When he tried to think of his life before his Fall, he found that he couldn’t remember anything but his painful existence in the lake.

Sometimes there were spasms of regret that would overcome him. Gnawing at him like a worm in his gut, he would try to think of what crime he could have

Her siblings never appreciated her work. Where she saw a battle won, they saw a massacre. Where she saw a victory for Heaven, they saw destruction. Her triumph was a failure to them, and always would be. They would never willingly accept her, so she would make them pay.

For one short day they felt her wrath as fire rained down upon the grassy meadows of Heaven. For the first time, Paradise burned.

The screams and cries of pain lit something in her coal-black heart. There was a part of her that enjoyed their suffering.

As cities cracked and tumbled, she laughed. Gardens burned, their colorful flowers curling in the heat. Trees caught on fire, their verdant green leaves already shriveling. The sky was red and thick with sour, stinking dust.

As she watched the chaos, she felt a presence behind her. A fellow warrior, his sword gleaming. She turned around and deflected his attack with her own weapon.

The fight was brutal and quick, and it

wasn’t long before she stood over him, triumphant. She smirked at him, her sword at his throat.

He smiled faintly and looked at her feet. There was no time for her to scream as the ground opened up beneath her and she fell into the abyss. She tried to flap her mighty wings, but they stayed limp at her side. She stared up helplessly at the face of the warrior angel that had bested her. She cursed him as she fell further, and eventually, with a sickening splat, she landed in raging hellfire.

Over the eons, her body melted and dripped like hot candle wax. Her wings molded to her back, and she only saw the flames that consumed her body hungrily. The armor that she had worn so proudly was now indistinguishable from her cracked skin. Her beauty had fell away to reveal raw flesh.

Her hatred for Heaven burned through the centuries, even as she was purged with fire that once gave her great power.

She sank into the flames, her hate everlasting. She still longed to escape, but freedom was now a distant dream.

committed. What could he have done to earn such a cruel fate?

One century, salvation came in the form of the Great Dragon. The mighty creature flapped its wing so hard trying to free itself, that there was a cracking noise. The half-frozen floes where he lay shuddered, and gave way. He fell into the water with a splash. Black dots danced before his eyes as he floundered to find a handhold. Gagging as water poured into his mouth and nose, it seemed he would sink to the bottom of the lake for eternity.

He felt the smooth mud of the lake surface between his fingers. Maybe he was close enough to the shore to escape his prison? Slowly, he dragged his desiccated body out of the lake, already feeling the ice reform around his limbs. The other frozen demons watched him with strained, desperate eyes. He clambered from the lake and collapsed onto a pebbled bank.

He tried to catch his breath but instead vomited water onto the sand. He lay there for a long time, resting his limbs and trying to think.

Where could he go? His memories were lost to the freezing lake and nothing seemed familiar as he looked around the cavern. There seemed to be no exit that he could see, and he felt a shiver of terror run through his body as he thought of whoever had cursed him to the frozen lake for eternity. Maybe they were searching for him! Looking despairingly

at the mossy cave walls, he saw a thin opening between two boulders. He limped to the entrance, his body still defrosting.

He looked through, and saw a narrow passageway, just big enough for him to squeeze through. He had to find a place to hide, before the long-forgotten entity that trapped him in the lake came for him!

As he scraped his way into the entrance, he felt damp rock under his bare feet. The air was much warmer than the cavern. He kept on going, not stopping until the entrance had disappeared out of sight. Only then he let himself relax. He sat on the ground, panting, and caught his breath. There seemed to be a bright light shining from far ahead, perhaps the exit. His heart rose as he experienced a forgotten feeling, hope. He got up and kept on walking.

The light was getting closer, and he had to squint to see where he was going.

The stone floor slowly changed to sharp pebbles, and that eventually disintegrated into loamy soil. The smell of mold and decay was replaced with a slight breeze. When he stepped on grass and saw Heaven’s blue skies, he gasped.

Collapsing to the ground, he only thought one thing.

He was home.

13

Yet she could clearly see the clouds of ash and darkness.

By Rabid Fairy There was no sign of light. No sign of the nice day she’d exMonday pected.

“There’s nothing poetic about “That’s beautiful,” I’d said. suffering,” she tells me, when I “Even though you can’t see the express my admiration for the light today, it will be there topainting illuminated by the dim morrow.” light of my computer screen. It’s “You aren’t listening.” a peaceful explosion of pastel colored flowers erupting from Tuesday the barrel of a gun.

On Tuesday, it really does rain.

“Poetry doesn’t have to be The raindrops patter against the beautiful,” I say. roof like incessant marching of “Then stop admiring the poem soldiers. The water hits the winfor its words and start listening dow with soft “plinks,” trailing to its message. Try and underdown the glass as the sky weeps. stand the pain.”

Wrapped in a blanket, I can’t I know what she’s referring to. help but wonder what’s not The explanation she’d given me peaceful about the rain. for why she couldn’t get out of A clap of thunder startles me. bed Sunday morning.

Maybe it’s not as peaceful as I “It was storm clouds,” she told thought. Moments later, a stroke me. Her depression was thunder of lightning flashes, lighting up rolling across her skies, even the poorly lit room. though the weather forecaster “It’s not all dark,” I say, rehad adamantly promised sun and membering yesterday. “The clear skies.

Understanding the Weather

14

“Weight of the World,” Illustration by Hecate

lightning provides light in the darkness of a storm.”

“The lightning isn’t light,” she responds. “It’s a flash of anxiety to tell me I’m still alive.”

“What has anxiety got to do with it?” I wonder.

“Anxiety is depression’s loud cousin who likes to remind everyone about that stupid thing they did five years ago,” she says. “And then anxiety tells them all what they have to do tomorrow and how it seems like too much to get done.”

I look at her, her hair pulled into a mess above her head.

She’s wrapped into a burrito of blankets, with a book she’s reading for school hidden in her lap.

I told her we should spend the afternoon watching movies. She told me she had work to do.

“Anxiety doesn’t sound very nice,” I say.

She shakes her head.

“It’s not.”

moved to homes on the bookshelf. There’s no sign of the candy wrappers and chip bags that were collecting on available flat surfaces. I get dizzy from the invasive smell of cleaning chemicals.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

She’s in the kitchen, reorganizing the spice cabinet. “This morning you had a headache.”

“I needed to be productive,” she says.

“Then, why didn’t you go to class?”

“On Wednesday, I accidentally called the professor ‘Dad’,” she answers.

I don’t understand but I try to.

Calling the professor dad sounds embarrassing. I wonder aloud if she’s talking about anxiety or depression. If this morning, her depression held her down with the force of a thousand tons and she couldn’t breathe. Or if she was breathing too hard because of her anxiety and she just needWednesday ed a break.

Last night she didn’t sleep. She She says it’s both. stayed up until three in the morn- “Is anxiety why you’re reoring reading her book and now ganizing the spice cabinet?” I she’s shuffling around the kitch- wonder. en, too exhausted to pick up her She nods. feet. I told her she’d regret it this morning.

Friday “You should’ve gone to bed Today she decides to go to earlier,” I say, watching as a class with me. The professor white ribbon of milk splashes doesn’t say anything about her into the dark pool in her coffee slip-up, he only tells her what cup. she missed when she asks after “I couldn’t,” she says. class. I can see her clench her “I guess the book was pretty fist around her bag the entire good,” I say. time, like she’s scared he’s going “I couldn’t sleep before I read to hurt her. the book. My mind wouldn’t let The sun is out and I wonder if me,” she says, taking a sip of the her sun is out too. Sometimes the still steaming coffee. weather can affect her mood, she The morning sun is streaming tells me, but today she can only through the kitchen window; the see clouds. open blinds paint lines of yellow “I wish I could be your umlight on her face. The purple cir- brella,” I say, holding her hand cles under her eyes have gotten while we walk to get lunch. darker since Monday evening, “But it’s not raining. It’s only when she only complained about clouds,” she says, trying to give being tired once. a sincere smile.

“I thought you said depression “Well, maybe I can be a warm makes you sleep more,” I say. blanket,” I suggest. “For com“Sometimes it makes me sleep fort.” less,” she says.

She nods and this time her I don’t get it. smile is real, “I would like that.”

“But blankets don’t fix everyThursday thing,” I say. I’m still trying to She doesn’t get out of bed on understand. Trying to understand time for class, so I go without that maybe it’s not so easy to see her. When I leave, she’s hidden the sun behind the clouds, to under a down comforter so large block out the lighting, to ignore I can’t even tell she’s underneath the thunder. it. I leave the ceiling fan on be“No, blankets don’t fix everycause she likes the soft whirring thing,” she agrees. “But, they’re sound. nice to have.”

By the time I get home, the entire apartment smells strongly of lemon and Windex. Every surface is scrubbed clean. The piles of books that were stacking up on the coffee table have been

Carnival Tail: Seven

By Calypso “We have to stop,” Cispen panted, slowing to a halt. Leaning one hand against a tree, he wiped his brow, turning his head as he wiped his eyes as well. I nodded, my stomach churning from riding and from Raiel’s death, and I was thankful I’d only had a few bites of meat earlier.

Cispen lowered his hand from his face but kept the other against the tree as he shifted his weight from leg to leg. Pink and purple was just starting to break through the grey of predawn over the tree line, but the air was still fresh and cool against my skin. Glancing at Cispen, I chewed the inside of my cheek.

He hadn’t moved, and his eyes seemed to sink into his skull from exhaustion.

“Are you going to be alright?”

I finally asked, and he blinked, shaking his head and swishing his tail.

“Of course,” he said, stomping his front left hoof. “Just tired, that’s all. It’s been a long night.”

“Good, then,” I said. We returned to silence, letting the birds’ chirps fill the air without interruption. Drumming my fingers against my legs, I looked from side to side, then up, even turning to look behind us several times before Cispen snapped, “What?”

“What?”

“I can still see you. You’re agitated over something.”

“I mean, it’s alright to be not alright.” His mouth thinned as he pressed his lips together, and the muscles in his arms twitched in agitation.

“I’m aware.”

“I just mean that your friend was murdered. By a human.

You’re allowed to grieve.”

“We don’t have that luxury right now. If we stop, they’ll find us, and we’ll either rejoin the carnival or join Raiel.”

“But avoiding grieving is distracting you even more than grieving would. It’s not letting you focus all your attention on escaping.”

“I’m not distracted.”

“Cispen, we’ve been here for several minutes now. I understand fatigue, but we haven’t even begun walking again. Take a few minutes and sit. I can stand watch.”

He crossed his arms, glancing left and right before nodding. He knelt, and I slid off his back, stumbling as I tried to take a step. His hand grabbed my arm to steady me, and I nodded my thanks before my stomach twisted and a vile taste flooded the back of my throat. My eyes widened, and I turned away from Cispen as I bent over and wretched, emptying my stomach and coating my mouth with the most bitter, disgusting taste I’d ever experienced. It was wholly unfamiliar to me, but I didn’t want to become any more familiar with it. Wiping my mouth, I groaned, falling back against Cispen.

“The nausea should fade soon now that it’s over,” he said, patting my shoulder in an awkward rhythm. “Riding does that to some humans.”

“I’m not human,” I snarled, but it turned into a groan as my stomach gurgled despite being empty.

“I know, but I’ve never met a mermaid with motion-sickness before.”

“Motion? I’m constantly in motion!”

“It’s just a phrase,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “We should probably move, though.

The smell might attract some creatures best avoided. Can you walk?”

“Of course I can walk,” I muttered, standing up straight and trying not to show how wobbly my legs still were. He stood and began walking through the trees.

I followed, peeved and relieved that he didn’t trust me to ride.

We continued without incident until we reached a small brook.

Kneeling by it, I lowered my face and inhaled deeply.

“It’s safe,” I said, pulling my face away and stepping away, retreating back into the trees to avoid any accidental splashes. I couldn’t afford to be in merform if the harpoon man and the others caught up with us, but my heart ached at the nearness of

water and the reminder of home.

Cispen knelt and cupped his hands in the brook, splashing some on his face before drinking the next handful. Water droplets trickled down his face and fell on his chest and the grass before him. Clean lines and dots appeared in the grime the covered his skin, and he ran his damp fingers through his hair and pressed them against the back of his neck. Once he was finished, he looked back at me and offered, “We can find you a leaf— something to be used as a cup.”

I licked my lips at the smell of running water, but I had no idea how much water was needed to make me transform, and it was hardly the time to experiment.

My brow furrowing, I shook my head and pulled my knees to my chest. He trotted over to me and knelt before sitting, his tail swishing in the grass. Even sitting, his head was at least a half a metre taller than mine, and I wrinkled my nose in irritation.

“What?” he asked, looking down at me.

“I’m sitting in your shadow.”

“Are you cold?”

“No.” “Then it’s not a problem.”

I pursed my lips but didn’t say anything. He leaned his left shoulder against a tree, and his eyes glazed over as he stared past me. Picking up a twig, I began poking the soft dirt, drawing patterns and symbols I had learned from my sisters. I’d only learned a few things in formal merfolk, but I knew enough to get by. I always thought I’d have more time to learn—after all, we were one of the immortal races.

My vision blurred, and I blinked back tears, chastising myself.

Tears were not for mermaids, neither under water nor above.

We stayed like that for some time. Cispen sat silently, and after a few minutes, he closed his eyes. I didn’t notice until later that gentle snores accompanied his breathing. I continued to draw in the dirt, finding new twigs when old ones snapped or bent beyond use, and running my hand over my small canvas in the dirt whenever I wanted a fresh start.

Eventually I decided to attempt

to make a map, but after a few minutes I realized that any efforts were futile. I had no idea which directions we’d been traveling in, and I had no idea where I’d even started out. I only knew my pond’s location in relation to other ponds and waterways. I had little knowledge of trees or plants above the water, and I’d never had much talent in astronomy.

Resolving to ask Cispen when he woke, I shifted my position and leaned back against the same tree. The sun was rising in the sky; it had already burned away the morning drew, and it was noticeably hotter. The light sparkled against the slow-moving water of the brook, and I forced myself to look away.

Despite my promise to keep watch, I may have dozed a couple of times. It only felt like minutes before the sun was at the center of the sky, and Cispen stirred, snorting and shaking himself awake. He yawned and stretched, his yawn turning into a soft whinny before he rubbed his eyes and patted his cheeks to wake himself up further. Still in a daze, I glanced over at him before I jolted up, realizing that I’d been sleeping.

“We should keep moving,” he said. “I’m rested. I can run.”

“Where will we go?”

“I don’t know where you’ll go, but once I get Aurelia out, I’m going to try to find my clan.”

“Wait, what? Cispen, don’t be ridiculous. Raiel died, the harpoon man and the others are still after us, and there’s no way of knowing what other dangers are out there if we stay close to humans. And to even think about going back…we just got away.

We’re finally free again.”

“But she isn’t.”

“She wouldn’t want you to throw this away. We’ve already been over this. It would be foolish to go back.”

“You don’t have to come,” he countered. “If you give me some details about your pond, I’ll point you in the right direction.

My clan migrates with the seasons. We may have passed by.”

Continued on next page

“Alone?”

“Unless you want to come with me. I don’t want to leave her there any longer.”

“You’ll only get yourself killed. Or worse, recaptured.”

“Why does it matter to you?

You’d be on your way home. Unless you think you’d be an asset to the mission and want to come with me.”

“I just don’t want any more of our kind to die at human hands.”

“Aurelia will if she stays there.

Or she’ll suffer worse.”

“We’re just going in circles at this point,” I said, shaking my head.

“I already said, you don’t have to come. I’ll do it on my own, and I’ll take whatever consequences it brings. But I can’t leave her there without even trying.”

“You’re making a mis—” A piercing pain shot through my leg, and I screamed, clutching at the shaft of an arrow that protruded from my upper leg. Blue blood pooled around the entry wound before trickling down my leg, and I stared at it in horror, unable to move my leg without sending waves of pain down my leg and up to my hip. Gasping for breath, I looked around to see the shape of a man in the bushes.

Hoof beats pounded past me, and Cispen charged at the shape, stumbling as another arrow whizzed by his left side and grazed his arm. He reared back, bringing his front hooves down on the bush and forcing the man to flee. It was the harpoon man. I stumbled back, dragging my left leg as the harpoon man advanced towards me.

Cispen charged at the harpoon man again, this time knocking him off his feet. He reared back again, and I turned away as the sound of crunching bones and screams pierced the air.

“It’s done,” Cispen said, and I looked up at him. He had the harpoon man’s pack slung over his shoulder. He knelt, picking up me. We both winced, my leg pulsing and his arm likely doing the same. He started off at a trot, carrying my like an infant.

We went even further into the forest, and the trees changed to pines. When we reached a large

rock formation, we stopped, and Cispen set me down, careful to make sure that nothing disturbed my leg.

Something dropped on the ground, and I saw Cispen examine a dagger. My eyes widened, but he said, “I took it from the harpoon man. I’m going to cut off the shaft of the arrow, and then I’m going to try to cut the arrowhead out. It’s going to hurt.”

“How do you know the dagger’s not poisoned or something?”

“I don’t smell anything. Besides, if it is poison, it’ll mean a quick death. The last thing you want is a drawn out one from infection.” He paused. “You might want to look away. I’ll get you something to bite.”

“What?” I asked, but he had already turned away. My leg pulsed as though with a separate heartbeat, and I closed my eyes, leaning back. Within minutes, I heard him return, and I opened my eyes to see him holding out a handful of star-shaped leaves.

“Chew these. They should help numb the pain.”

“And if not?”

“Then you’ll die of poisoning.”

I glared up at him but took the leaves, tearing the pile in half and placing a few in my mouth. I didn’t feel anything, but I heard the snap of the shaft. The pulsing in my leg slowed, and I felt a glimmer of hope before it was utterly and completely crushed.

I bit back my screams, focusing on chewing.

Every muscle in my body seemed to contract, and my fingers clawed and the rock beneath me. Tears flowed down my cheeks, but I was past caring.

Cispen rested his hand over mine and said, “I need you to relax. The worst part is over.”

I panted and swallowed, stuffing the rest of the leaves into my mouth as I tried to relax. I felt him

prodding around, trying to ease the arrowhead out. The metal of the knife was cool against my skin, and the blood from the wound mixed with sweat and dirt.

Finally, he said, “It’s done.”

Wiping the tears from my face, I sat up and looked at my leg.

Blood covered my thigh, and my head spun from sitting up too quickly. Puling rope and cloth out of the pack, Cispen said, “Alright, I spoke too quickly. Lie down again.”

I obeyed, and I felt him wrap the cloth and rope around my thigh. I winced, but no more tears fell. Instead, I sniffled and sat up, and Cispen sat down, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Your arm,” I said, but he shook his head.

“It’s not urgent. Merely a scratch.”

I bit my lip, staring at the bluestained cloth.

“I guess I won’t be able to go

“Jellyfishmaid Fashion,” Illustration by Hecate

home for a while.”

“You’ll be alright. I saw some familiar plants while we were coming here, and I’ll be able to keep any infection away—maybe even quicken the healing process.” I frowned at him, and he shrugged, glancing away. “I’m not just going to leave you for dead.”

“Thank you,” I said, hoping he knew that I meant it.

“You’d do the same for me,” he muttered. Looking back at me, he said, “Would you, though?”

“What? Of course.”

“Or the equivalent?”

“What do you mean?”

“Will you help me? I can’t… there are too many humans to do it alone.”

I paused, looking down at my leg.

“Ask me when I can walk again.”

To be continued…