December 2013
Midnight Writers
Table of Contents Cover: “Solitude,” a photograph by Suzy-chan This Page: “Winter’s Lull,” a photograph Aries
Page 11:
Page 3: Ask Aphro & Dite
Sweater weather stresses friendship A Hobbit seeks advice for dealing with stereotypes
Calypso’s Island:
Calypso reminisces about caroling with Echo
Echo’s Echo
“Winter’s Gaze,” an illustration by Bandersnatch
by “The Winter Winds,” a poem by Bandersnatch
A look into President Calypso’s past
Page 4: “Winter Wonderland,” a painting by Japanda3 “Opposite World,” a poem by Janus “A Message to the Companions,” a poem by Exodus
Page 5:
“Choices,” a poem by Bellum “The Sweater,” a painting by Aceso
Page 12: “Rocking Around The Reading Tree,” a short story by Amanda Farine “Full-metal Holiday,” an illustration by Japanda3 “Only Lasting a Second,” a poem by Circe “The Truth of the Holiday,” a rant by Hephaestus
Page 13: “The Tale of Two Sisters,” a short story by Nemesis “Snowy Patches Strewn,” a photograph by Andromeda “Fractured Crystals,” a photograph by Andromeda
Page 14:
“The Last President: Chapters Three and Four,” a short story “The Metallas Excerpt: Alyx,” a short story by Artemis and by Poseidon Circe “The Sweep of Easy Wind and Downy Flake,” a photograph “The Ocean’s Child,” a short story by Calypso by The Owlish Bookworm “Grand Central Snow,” a photograph by Suzy-chan “The Ocean’s Child,” continued “Merform Rowan,” an illustration by Hecate “The Struggles of Suspense,” a poem by Vivan Griselda “Silent Tokyo,” a photograph by Suzy-chan “Time Kills,” a photograph by Junius Maltby “The Song,” a poem by Zenyatta “Time,” a poem by Luna-Moon Sparkles
Page 15: Page 16:
Page 6:
Page 7: “Gray, Red, White,” a poem by Ozymandias “Bilboroar,” a photograph by Suzy-chan “One Ring To Rule Them All,” a poem by The Owlish Bookworm
Page 8: “Aragorn vs. Odysseus: Who’s Really the Hero?,” a rant by The Owlish Bookworm “Once,” a photograph by Suzy-chan “Town Square,” a photograph by Suzy-chan
Page 9: “Bloodysseus,” a poem by The Owlish Bookworm “Tiled Legacy,” a photograph by Suzy-chan
Page 10: “The Christmas Story,” a short story by Buckbeak “Family Ties,” a photograph by The Owlish Bookworm
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Ask Aphro & Dite
Dear Aphrodite, As the holidays near, my friends are starting to wear more festive clothing. What I mean to say, is that they’re all wearing Christmas sweaters. One of my closest friends seems to have an affinity for atrocious ones. They are truly hideous, and quite awful. I pride myself on my style, and I feel that my friend has no such regards for it. How can I convince him to stop wearing such dreadful sweaters? Yours, Swearing Against Sweaters (aka S. Holmes) Dear Sweaters, I feel your pain. However, as those gifted in the art of style and fashion, we must take the high road and allow others to dress as they wish. I imagine your friend wishes to reap the benefits of wearing a toasty pullover, and the ones he owns happen to be gaudy. Or, he’s seen your disapproval and is trying to rile you up. Either way, it’s the holidays, and in light of good cheer and spirit, we should allow the sweater-wearers to go on wearing sweaters. After all, caring is sharing, and what better way to show it than by sharing the kind side of you? Best of Luck, Dite Dear Aphrodite, I've noticed a disturbing number of stereotypes persisting in Middle Earth; that elves are tall and beautiful, that hobbits despise adventuring-the list goes on and on. I understand that some of us fit into these neatly drawn pictures, but there are so many of us who don't! The worst part is they’re enforced by our own races as well as the others. I find it ridiculous that I can't go farther than the corn fields without being ridiculed about how bad things come to hobbits who wander. How do you advise handling this? Yours, Trapped Dearest Trapped, I think those stereotypes may not be all they seem. Sometimes the pressures and expectations of our societies become exaggerated in our heads. Although physical characteristics hold true, it’s what’s on the inside that counts. Substance over surface, dearie. As for hobbits, I’m shocked that such a thing was said. I knew the original adventuring hobbits, and according to them, all hobbits had something inside them that urges them to adventure. The stereotypes within your own race exist because most are afraid of being and doing what they want. The only way to handle this is to be fearless. If you want to adventure, adventure! Be the stuff of stories, the star of legends! Go beyond the corn fields; if they ridicule you, it’s because they wish they had your courage. Be who you are, not who others tell you to be. Always remember-not all those who wander are lost. Wishing all the Best, Dite
Calypso’s Island
Happy holidays! Greetings from the Underworld. Things have been surprisingly festive down here. Every doorway of the palace is decorated with tinsel, and I just finished hanging the last of the lights. Christmas gifts have been a bit difficult to make because I don’t have access to my usual resources. Normally I bake my sisters care packages, but I don’t think that would be very wise this year. Still, Hades has a well-stocked storeroom. I’ve helped myself to several skeins of yarn to knit socks and scarves and mittens for the gods and goddesses, and I’m currently in the middle of Hermes’ sweater. (Don’t tell him, ok?) One thing that’s very different is the silence at night. I mean, there’s always the howling of tormented souls from the Fields of Punishment and the cries of the recently departed souls Chiron drags across the River Styx, but there’s a distinct lack of cheerful sounds. In year past, I’ve gone caroling with some other nymphs, and I’ve grown accustomed to hearing bright holiday songs fill the night. There was one very memorable caroling session several years ago when I went with my dear friend Echo. We went to Hermes’ palace, and I suggested that we sing “Deck the Halls” as our first song. When he opened the door, his golden curls were mussed, and his lean build was hidden by plaid pajama pants and a sweatshirt. He smiled at us, and we chorused, “Happy holidays!” before starting to sing. Everything went well until Echo suggested that we sing “Santa Baby.” Have you ever had one of those moments when you were looking at something and you said what you were looking at instead of what you were supposed to say? Well, I had one of those moments. Echo still insists that it was a Freudian slip, but either way, I accidentally sang, “Hermes baby.” I immediately backed away as I apologized, but I slipped on a patch of ice and fell unceremoniously on my bottom. A good friend would have helped me get up and run away, and like the true friend she is, Echo fled without me, flinging mistletoe at us as she did. Hermes, kind soul that he is, helped me up. He invited me inside for some hot chocolate, and we ended up watching a movie together while I warmed up. (Despite what Echo says, we didn’t snuggle. Don’t listen to her. She enjoys embellishing things.) It wasn’t until two hours later that Echo finally returned. By then, Hermes and I had exchanged numbers, and we’ve been good friends ever since. Well, that’s my embarrassing holiday story. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season! See you next year!
Echo’s Echo
Hey what’s up Midnight Writers! This month I’m featuring someone you already know and love-the one and only President Calypso! There’s a little story she’ll be sharing here, but in addition to her telling the story, I’ll be sharing my side. Trust me, my story is much more accurate. So as a holiday tradition, Calypso and I go Christmas caroling around Mt. Olympus. Being the two beautiful nymphs we are, we’re always a hit. All those gods go crazy over our lovely voices and faces. Anyway, one year we reached Hermes’ palace, and it’s no secret that Calypso has a little thing for him. We knocked on his door, and she was jittering from all that excitement. Finally, he opened the door, sporting pajamas but still looking good enough to send Calypso’s heart racing. We greeted him with “Happy Holidays!” before singing “Deck The Halls,” and not just singing it, but nailing it. We did so well that I suggested we sing “Santa Baby.” And then Calypso, who must have been too mesmerized by Hermes, accidentally belted out “Hermes Baby.” She gasped and, pardon the cheesy comparison, turned as red as Rudolph’s nose. She grabbed my hand and tried to run away, but she slipped on the ice and fell. Of course, being the good friend I am, I would’ve pulled her up and run off with her, but I figured I should let them have their alone time together. So, knowing she’d thank me later, I tossed some mistletoe in their direction and scurried off. I snuck back to his place a couple hours later to peek at them through the windows and lo and behold, they were all cuddled up on his couch, watching a movie together. And he asked for her number! Calypso’s eyes were literally twinkling with happiness. I looked at the time and realized we still had a lot of caroling left, so I fetched her back. No wonder she sounded even cheerier singing at everyone else’s house after that. She must’ve been thinking of him the entire time. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that story, raw and unedited. Remember I am Echo and Echo speaks the truth and only the truth. Enjoy your holidays and have a happy new year everyone!
Special thanks to Sra. Steele, Calypso, Echo, Hecate, Eros, Glittercheese, and Chronos, 3
Opposite World By Janus I went to a mysterious land There, reality groans and sags Where the humble man is grand And the proud man in rags I met a baby with a wise mind And an old man who is a fool I met the meanest angel I could find And a nice and sweet ghoul An ugly woman the people adore A beautiful woman is no one War to them is an awful bore Peace is much more fun They greeted me and baked me a cake They all shared a joyful face They weren’t rude or fake Should I stay in this lovely place? Or return to my town? Can I be at ease? Or live where I frown? I was about to appease When I woke from sleep And was very glad My world may be a heap But a world like that would’ve driven me mad! “Winter Wonderland,” Painting by Japanda3
A Message to the Companions By Exodus
Will you be left behind? By a madman with a broken mind? Or will travel through time and space? Until you retire from the endless chase?
Promises of planets unknown Whispers that you’re never alone Endless stars and galaxies With that first cry of “Allons-y”
A scarf, a jumper, or bow-tie As a superhero, he answers the cry An eternal traveler, but the desolation?
Your curiosity is sparked again
Does it get lonely in his limitless exploration? When no one is there to see? His tears in his time of need?
You can’t help but think it a godsend An escape from a dreary life Of boredom and fruitless strife But when promises are broken? When whispers are no longer spoken?
But the sacrifice must be made Earth’s safety must be paid His currency of blood and death To protect Earth until his last breath
The Metallas Excerpt: Alyx By Artemis and Circe I remember when the lights used to flash brightly in Times Square. When all you could hear was the clamor of voices and the music from the advertisements. But as I walk down Seventh Avenue all I hear is the rain. The rhythmic sounds surround me and soon enough I am drenched. I have never liked the rain. It reminds me too much of the day the Rot came. It was on my sixteenth birthday, and New York was quarantined due to the Rot. The Rot was a disease which was ravaging the Americas during the 2050’s. The disease was basically rapid deterioration of the body first with the skin then everything came off sometimes overnight, then the next day they would be gone. Teenagers usually showed a little more resistance to the disease but we were not immune to the disease. Ever since the quarantine the sky was always angry showering rains down upon us day and night. I remember that day as clear as if it happened yesterday. We were cutting the cake on my favorite Red Velvet Cake with strawberry syrup on top. My parents both were scientists trying to find a cure and too busy to find time for me, but when they did, it really meant a lot-not
“The Sweep of Easy Wind and Downy Flake,” Photograph by The Owlish Bookworm
that I expressed that. That’s why this birthday was so special because it was the first one that they had celebrated with me since I hit the double digits at 10. When I saw the patches form before my eyes I instantly regretted everything. I didn’t even tell them how much I loved them.
In that every moment when my mom saw the patch she looked at me and said the last words I would ever hear from her “We will always love you sweetie. Now GO.” As soon as I left the house the alarm sounded letting all the citizens of New York know that the Rot had infiltrated the state. Havoc occurred all around me but I could not evacuate like the rest. Most people ran to the evacuation centers at the harbors which deported them immediately to other international countries which had open borders for the time being. Ever since then I have been here and alone. From time to time I would run into some adult who had gone insane from the solitude, so I tended to avoid society in general. The main point for me was to survive. During the day I would scrounge stores for food and clothing and each week I shifted to a different penthouse in the Upper East Side of Manhattan. As a little kid I always wanted to live there but I never imagined it like this. What was the point to life anymore? My chapped lips hadn’t relayed a conversation in about 2 months except for the occasional “damn” scattered around here or there. For the longest time I wanted to escape this living nightmare but recently I’ve been thinking of heading back to lab where my parents worked to find a cure. I’m already 17, only one more year to give the excuse of being a teenager so I may as well use this time wisely. I’m forced out of my thoughts with the rain falling upon my face. I have a love hate relationship with the rain. It reminds me of the worst memories but it masks the tears that fall down my face. “Grand Central Snow,” Photograph by Suzy-chan
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“Silent Tokyo,” Photograph by Suzy-chan
The Struggles of Suspense By Vivan Griselda My heart has grown so faint. Constantly battling for greater fame. Yet the pressure falls every night. Just because I don't have a stamp of approval. These goals appear to be no where in sight, Never would I have thought such stress would be so brutal. Amazing things supposedly only come to those with the best marks. But what about all of these emotional, passionate scars? Whispers of my actions are all I hear, Perfection isn't the only way to be sincere. It's taken over me like a growing wound, Despite the fact that they all say it'll be over soon. However my trembling tears beg to differ. As does the mallet pounding on my head. While walking alongside the empty sky, I found another shattered dream, sitting on the ground. Confidence, stay with me. Because my grip is softly dying. My dear, stand by me, Comfort me while I'm softly crying. Apparently credit only goes to those on the top, So the others on the bottom are destined to be cropped. No longer do I wish this was my life. Because around here nothing I do ever seems to be right.
The Song By Zenyatta A shadow of a morning song Hangs in the air forevermore. It calls to all that should belong At home on this last homely shore. The song is dim and almost gone But it still calls and calls to all. So if you see the setting sun, Know that it's there, stopped by no wall.
Time By Luna-Moon Sparkles
“Time Kills,” Photograph by Junius Maltby
Here I am 30 years old. Where did all the time go? My hands are so tight with pain. My faced filled with loss and sorrow. What happened to me all these years? Day in day out I'm slowly drowning with exhaustion. Where did my youth go? Jumping on bikes, riding into the night. Where did all the fun go? Staring into space, hoping it will come back for a minute. Sorry, time just goes faster.
Gray, Red, White By Ozymandias
For nigh on two days and two nights they fought Upon the white and snowy Celebdil Neither surrend’ring, for both of them sought Victory o’er the one they tried to kill. The thunder and the lightning struck and flashed The battleground of the two ancient foes, While in between them Light and Darkness crashed, As the pair dealt each other grievous blows. Finally, the Light did conquer the Dark, The flame and shadow fell down the great cliff, And to the voice of angels Light did hark As into the void he was cast adrift. And every moment seemed another age, As up above him stars were born and died For against that good night he would not rage, Into the land of death with grace he’d ride. But it was not the end, for there was more That needed doing before he was through On this world, for there would be a great war; This would not be the last monster he slew. So he was sent back to the mortal land, To help them with the storm, the quest, the fight, That they may be free from the Dark Lord’s hand, For he was the great mage, Gandalf the White.
One Ring To Rule Them All By The Owlish Bookworm Well, hello there, lovely. How aaaare you? You look… Lonely. Do you Like me? Yes, it’s Elvish. Beautiful, isn’t it? Go on then, Pick me up. Can you feel that? That surging? It’s power, Power beyond all measure You can’t even understand, Can you? That’s alright, though. You will. One day. You’re not like the others, I can tell. You’re different, aren’t you? A bit of an outcast, Aren’t you? The othersThey think you’re strange. Wrong, somehow.
What’s this, then? Seems to be A ring… It looks… Lovely. Maybe a bit lonely? Is that strange? Can a ring be lonely? It certainly doesn’t look Like other rings… Look how it shines In the firelight And- what’s this? Writing? Elvish, maybe? Maybe it’s important, But, ohHow curious! It’s like me, isn’t it? Different From all others, But better than all of them. They don’t like me. Think I’m peculiar, “That Smeagol,” they say. They make fun. But now they won’t anymoreNow I have this I think it’ll… Protect me…
And yet they call themselves Your family. Your friends. They lie.
Why would I think that? What’s that prickling under my skin? In my heart?
You’re special.
Doesn’t matter,
“Bilboroar,” Photograph by Suzy-chan
But don’t worry, You don’t need themNow you have me. Me to protect you. All I ask Is that you keep me close Close to you, to your heart. Never lose me, Even though you may lose Your mind. Never give me up, Though in the end you may have To give up yourself. We’ll be together, You and I. Inseparable. Because you need me, Don’t you? More than that, You want me, Desperately. Don’t you? Not to worryAs long as you hold me, Keep me Protect me, I’ll never leave you, lovely.
Must concentrate. Yesssss. I’ll keep it close. Close to me And my heart. Never lose it, Won’t ever. And what’s this? We’re shivering, Shaking, TremblingFrom what? Changing… Smeagol’s face didn’t Look like this before. Faces not important! We’s has the ring! Together, We’s togetherses forever! Never let go! We’s needs each others, Don’t we’s? We loves it! We’s wants it Forever. Mustn’t ever let go!
Never leave you, My dearest, Darling, Beloved, Perfect,
No, no, don’t worry! We’s never lets goWe’s holds on, We’s protects. Never leaves my lovely, My treasure? My dearie?
Precious.
My precious. 7
Aragorn vs. Odysseus: Who’s Really the Hero? By The Owlish Bookworm I’ve just finished reading the Odyssey, and let me tell you that even though Homer was a brilliant guy, his hero was most definitely not very heroic. What’s the plot summary of the Odyssey? Odysseus is trying to get home, right? But why does it take soooo long? I’ll tell you-it’s because Odysseus is a moron. Every single time he’s in a tight spot and about to die and someone magically gives him a plan to get home, he’s like, “Nah! I’ve got a better plan, I can so do this on my own!” Not even kidding, someone needed to teach that guy a few lessons when he was young-why on earth does that guy always think he’s right? Yes, he’s brilliant, let’s give Homer that, but if he’s so smart, then why does it take 20 years? And it’s not like every single one of those years is actually spent trying to come home. Nooo, sirree. Half of the time, Odysseus is drunk or bewitched, and ends up sleeping with a goddess for years. While his wife’s at home fighting off all of those suitors, forever remaining faithful to a man who’s probably
“Town Square,” Photograph by Suzy-chan
“Once,” Photograph by Suzy-chan dead, he’s off gallivanting about with different women. Supposedly, it’s because it’s the only way to stay alive and save his men- men who end up getting eaten anyways. And that brings me to the leadership part of Odysseus. What kind of captain/king-guy just goes about and gets every single one of his men killed? This is with the understanding that some of those idiots died because they were stupid, but really? Every single one? So final conclusion-Odysseus is still a moron who needs to pull himself together before talking about himself as if he’s the greatest hero ever. And to a point, yes, he probably is. The Odyssey, and therefore Odysseus, is the basis of every great adventure story we have today. But if the man just used his kindergarten skills and listened, he would’ve been home in a year, one to pledge his allegiance to with all of his men, without hav- Frodo, and the first one to proing to sleep with any other wom- tect the hobbits against the harsh en. But no. And that brings us to reality of Middle Earth. In doing a man who is the opposite of so, he’s kind of made the leader Odysseus, a character I consider of the Fellowship, but does that to be a better Odysseus than the make him an arrogant fool who real one will ever be. thinks he’s above everyone else? Aragorn. Tall, dark, and hand- No. Aragorn’s always putting some-the one who manages to Frodo and the hobbits and pretty save the day and be awesome all much everyone else before him. the time. Now he does the whole Not even kidding, every single hero thing right. He’s the first fellow in the Fellowship owes
his life to Aragorn. And in your face Odysseus, because every single one of them except one survived the trip. And lest we forget, Aragorn is the born king of Gondor, but has he spent his life trying to assert his right as king? Nope. He’s the one backing away from it, deeming himself unworthy. And that right there, ladies and gents, is what makes him worthy. It’s only after three movies of trials and tests that he finally figures out that he’s awesome enough to lead the world. Meanwhile, ol’ Odysseus over there spends so much time declaring that he’s king and telling his whole life story that no one can get a word in edgewise. Next thing on the list is the whole relationship, fidelity thing. Shall we, Aragorn? Now that guy knows what’s up when
it comes to his lady. He has to go on this journey that he’s probably going to die on, and he still doesn’t stray from her. He has to let her go because he wants her to live, and she goes, and even then he turns down the other chick who’s been eyeing him up. Let’s also not forget that Aragorn just happens to be dropdead gorgeous, so he could do anything he wanted to while he’s off on his galaxy-saving odyssey, but does he? Heck no. He’s got that necklace, he’s got the heart, he’s not going anywhere. Oh, and extra bonus that Lord Elrond doesn’t like his looks and that he’s a warrior; in other words, he’s a bad boy. So there Homer. Please, next time you decide to write an epic that will influence great literature for centuries, try making your hero truly heroic, instead of an arrogant womanizer who thinks he’s all that. Apologies for practically defiling the most classical classic of all time, but it needed to be said. Also-here’s a bonus for Aragorn that I almost forgot. The entire journey takes a little over a year. Then Aragorn’s home, king, married to the love of his life. And they all live happily ever after.
Bloodysseus
By The Owlish Bookworm Just start at the beginning, sir. It all started Early last year. This nightmare. God, will this ever end? He’s getting close to the finish, And I fear for us all. Do you remember his first victim? Y-yes. A young womanHer name was Helen. So beautiful, So innocent. And he killed her. L-left a kiss On her cheek. In blood. There in the street Topped with a bow, A body lay bloodied, Simply signed, “O” As if, as if She was a gift. To him, they’re all Gifts, presents He’s doing us a, a A favour. Keep going, sir. The next one, A little girl. He covered her In lotus flowers. She looked so Peaceful. A lost fairy In an enchanted Garden. There in the alley, Crowned with a bow, The pixie lay fallen, Simply signed “O” Then it wasn’t enough For him. The eyes, those eyes! It’s all right, sir. Go on. A-a man. On his way Home. Broken, blood Everywhere. On his face. One eye stared Blankly into the Distance. And the other, the other Was in his hand. Gazing, Unseeing, Electric blue, With all the electricity Gone. There in the street, Topped with a bow, The now one-eyed man, Simply signed, “O”
How could he? How dare he?
Simply signed, “O” We knew what was Coming next. Calypso’s Island.
If only we’d known. Then even that Wasn’t enough. For him.
We knew it would be Nightmarish. It was worse.
What happened next? His next victims, He’d, he’d made them Into animals. Cheap party favours, Cat ears, whiskers, monkey masks, Lion’s mane. There in the centre, Capped with a bow, Those bodies lay broken, Simply signed, “O”. Who was “O”? It took days, And then my daughter, Telling me about school, About EnglishThe Odyssey. How did we miss it? We read ahead, And cried. There was nothing, Nothing We could do. What next, sir? The Underworld. In the sewers, An old man, They said he was a Psychic. There in the muck, Topped with a bow, The body, half missing, Simply signed, “O”
A woman, Strangely beautiful, A caretaker From down the street. He left her with nothing, No pride, no dignity No heart. There in the centre, Accented with a bow, A body and its heart, Simply signed “O” All the trails were Going cold, All leads were Lies. Hopeless. That’s the last one. But he’s not done Yet. We know the last scene The Final Battle The final massacre. It can’t happen, We can’t let it. How can we stop it? Sir, are youOfficers! Quickly! A lead off of 24th Street! Everybody’s got to goDI’s orders!
Can you go on, sir? Yes- next were the Sirens. Three women, Opera singers. They had talent, A future. And he took it all Away. Then the monsters. Six men. In pieces… All had teeth marks. Teeth marks. Had he made them? What is this madness? There in the street, Each wrapped in a bow, Pieces of bodies, Simply signed, “O”. “O”. Odysseus. We would find him. Any other monsters, sir? Y-yes. The water one. Two boys, Drowned. In the middle of the lake, Tied up with a bow, Floating corpses,
“Tiled Legacy,” Photograph by Suzy-chan
This is our chance. All units out! Run down apartment, Crumbling at corners. This is it. Silently up staircases, Loaded and armed. We’re in, sir. Mutely moving, Get into position. This momentJustice will be Served. Deep breath. Open door. AndStop. There in the centre, Topped with a bow, A man’s body, He’d signed himself “O” Dear Officers, You’ve found meIt’s taken twenty years. You’re slipping, And I’ve gotten Bored. I was a heroGave you presents. Why didn’t you Like them? Maybe you’ll like This one. Farewell, Odysseus It’s over. All over. Thank God.
The Christmas Story By Buckbeak
“Quick, think! You only have a couple minutes to make a choice!” The television sounded faintly in the back of the house as I entered. “SAM!” I head shouts of my name and the sound of hundreds of feet running down the hall as I braced myself for impact. First it was my parents, running and giving me a huge squeeze before making way for my siblings who were waiting impatiently for their turn. As my parents slowly moved away from me, I suddenly felt a slam against my body. I stumbled and found myself hugging my older brother. “Mike! I thought I told you to not slam into your sister like that when she came home. You both could have gotten hurt! My mother scolded my brother playfully as I removed myself from the hug. “Hey big bro, how’s it going?” I said, smiling at Mike. He looked like everyone else in the familybrown eyes and brown hair. The only differences were the tattoos across his arms and the piercings in his ear. Despite his outward appearance, people enjoyed his presence. Surprisingly, he was a lawyer and earned quite a bit of money. My parents asked him to take the piercings off, but he said that it helps give off the appearance that he is not a force to be reckoned with. After he shrugged, I shoved him away playfully, making room for the next person to hug. Unfortunately, they decided that it would take too long and tackled me to the ground in a huge family hug. All too soon I was underneath a dog pile, and it was getting harder to breathe by the second. My arms were bent underneath me, and my legs were flat out. My head was tilted to the side, and arms and legs were touching almost every part of my body. Suddenly, I heard a voice cry out, “Alright, get off her so we can eat.” The pressure of a million weights lifted off me as I climbed to my feet. My hair was a mess and my clothes were crumpled, but I was the happiest I had been in a long time. I smiled at my grandfather and gave him a kiss on the cheek. I wrapped my arm around my grandmother while helping her climb up the stairs. We reached the kitchen, where the rest of the family cried out in happiness at the sight of me. I smiled, and after settling my grandmother down, I said “hello” to everyone and settled down, waiting for the food. Soon, hands moving from all over asked me to try freshly baked food. To soothe the raging crowd of hands, I accepted a plate from one of my cousins and slowly went around to each person accepting the food and answering ques-
tions about my life. After grabbing all the food that my plate could hold, I walked out of the kitchen to the family room, where all of the cousins sat with their children. I sat on the ground and ate, letting the warmth of the fireplace heat me up. The smaller children came closer to me, cocking their heads in bewilderment, wondering who was here in their house, eating the food that their family had made for them. I smiled at them, but many of them had been born after I had left, so they didn’t recognize me. I quickly finished my food, impatient to go the living room where all the men sat. My cousins asked where I was going, but I shook my head and told them that I would be back soon. I crept away and walked down the hall to where the men sat in the living room. I saw my father sitting there next to my brother, who was talking to the crowd of men. My father saw me and motioned to come in, but I shook my head and pointed to Mike. My father, not understanding hand motions, again motioned and I had no choice but to step in. Even as a child, the living room was always my favorite in the entire house. Maybe it was because when all the men were sitting there and talking, I knew that our family would be safe. When the men saw me, they smiled and started to make room on the couches so I could sit, but I quickly stopped them, telling them that it wouldn’t be too long and that I just had to talk to Mike for a moment. All the men groaned in disappointment, and I laughed, motioning for Mike to follow me. I pulled him into a room down the hall. As we turned to face each other, Mike’s face become solemn. “Why are you here? You said you’d never come back, and now, when everyone finally gets over it, you come back and everyone forgives you for leaving. You can’t just waltz back after a good four years with no contact and expect me to forgive you. Because I won’t, I can’t.” He finished sadly, turning his head away from mine. I sighed and wrapped my arms around him, feeling the tension in his body. I sighed again, and whispered in his ear, “I can never ask you to forgive me. I understand that you may never forgive me, but I want you to know that I will never leave again. Mike, you’re the only person who truly understands why I left. Everyone here thinks I left because of the job.” I continued moving away and peering into his face, “You’re the only one who knows what happened that night, and you’re the only one I can talk to. So even though you may never forgive me, I will never stop trying to earn your forgiveness.”
Mike turned away, but when he looked back, his eyes softened before he wrapped his arms back around me and said, “You know I’ll always forgive you. You’re my little sister, how can I not?” We sniffled, and I hugged him even tighter. I felt better; all of the stress from the past couple years and the tightness in my heart were finally lessened. He truly forgave me, and I felt better-I felt at home. But there was still one thing missing. I was relieved that he forgave me, but I still felt that tightness. I knew that there was still one more thing to do. I sniffled before pulling away and holding his hands in mine. “Mike, where is he? I need to know where he is; I have to tell him something.” Mike looked up, smiling as he said, “Look behind you.” He gave me a kiss on the cheek, before turning me around and leaving the room. But I was in shock; of all of the scenarios that I had imagined, this wasn’t one of them. “Hey” Henry whispered softly before cautiously approaching. I couldn’t talk. I could barely breathe. I hardly knew what was going on. “Sam? Okay, breathe for me, honey. It’s going to be okay, just breathe,” he repeated. Somewhere in my hazy mind, his voice rang out, and I began to follow his orders. By the relief in his face, it was obvious that my being in a hazy dreamlike state scared him. At least I know he cares, but is it too late? “H-hi,” I said shakily before taking a deep breath and saying, “What are you doing here?” He kept walking until he was an arm’s length away and said slowly, “I’m invited every year by your mom. She says that since I got so close to the family, and because I don’t really have anyone, it wouldn’t make any sense to be alone. Honestly, I think it was because she missed you so much, and losing you made her want to be around people who truly loved you. Sam, I-” I motioned for him to stop, and after a couple moments of silence, I said, “You deserve an explanation for what happened that night. I found the ring, Henry. I should’ve talked to you before making assumptions, but I knew it was for me. I just didn’t know what to do! I’m not very good with feelings. You didn’t deserve someone like me; you could clearly do with someone better. So I ran. I left everyone, including my family because I know how
much you loved them and how much they loved you. Being with them reminded me of you too much, and I figured that I needed to get away. So I took up the job offer in California and stayed there. But I realized something; after all of those months of crying, I knew what my answer would be, and that scared me the most. Even right now, if you were to ask me, I would still say yes. But I didn’t come back for that; I came back to ask for your forgiveness. You might hate me and it might take more than this explanation for you to forgive me, but I just want you to know how sorry I am to have left without a proper good bye. I know you must have gone through a lot because I left.” I finished quietly, dropping my head, not wanting to look into those eyes that had once held adoration. After a few moments, I heard footsteps and saw a pair of black shoes stop in front of me. I lifted my head until I saw his solemn face, and then I saw his lips start to move. “You’re right, Sam, you should have told me before leaving. You’ll never understand what I went through-the thoughts that I had in my head and the stares from everyone, thinking that I had something to do with you leaving me. Yes, I bought that ring, and yes it was for you. But you know the worst part is? That ever since you left me, I have been carrying it around in the hopes of finding you and asking you to marry me. But the most horrible part of all this is that even now I can’t hate you. Because I knew as soon as you left that I forgave you. I still love you, Sam, and so I ask you from the bottom of my heart to marry me. Please?” Henry asked as he got down on one knee and pulled out the ring. “No Henry! How can you forgive me even after all I did to you! I can’t even forgive myself!” I cried. He got up and hugged me, saying, “Sweetie, Christmas is the time to forgive, and I think it’s time for you to forgive yourself.” He said. I just smiled through my tears, took the ring from his hands and slipped it on to mine; giving him the answer he had been waiting for all those years.
“Family Ties,” Photograph by The Owlish Bookworm
“Winter’s Gaze,” Illustration by Bandersnatch
The Winter Winds By Bandersnatch The icy gusts hurl daggers At bright blue eyes Turning pink from The vicious wind’s sting
The soft breeze carries flakes Of powder-white snow
Falling to rest upon The cold and quiet earth “The Sweater,” Painting by Aceso
whole day after But you still drink By Bellum Because it’s going to taste good Because you want to be Impulsive Our paths are determined by the choices Fearless we make
Choices
Then, there are some choices you feel are so significant that they could change your whole life’s purpose Could create the ideal future you You make the choice and wonder if you chose wisely big and small Some choices are like a loose string of a What if I had Down to every last moment, every last choice, it sweater, you want that annoyance to dis- Would things be the same is all significant. appear, you have a problem and a goal These are the worst, the ones where all the crooks and nooks, and corners of Some choices are like drinking a burning but you don’t solve it accordingly, You pull your brain are clouded with shadows and hot cup of hot chocolate in the winter. whispers of You know it’s going to burn, you know And pull Until you have less than you had to What if your tongue is going to be numb the begin with 11
Rocking Around The Reading Tree By Amanda Farine
Some people might ask, “What do people do around the holiday season, school-wise?” Well, I’ll tell you. My name is Lisa Barton, and I’m seven years old. I go to Lucia D. Lakemond Elementary School, where I was held back a year and am in first grade instead of second. At my school, everyone does something special for the holiday season. I’m going to name every activity each grade does until I get to the grade I’m supposed to be in. The pre-school kids put on a Frosty the Snowman play in our school’s Little Tots Drama Club. The kindergarteners have a story contest where whoever writes the best story gets to read it in the School Assembly on the last day of school before winter
break. The second graders make a big Santa Claus cake for the whole school to have on the day of our party. As for us first graders, we have a book exchange. That’s when the two first grade classes have each student bring in one store-bought book wrapped in pretty wrapping paper. Then we lay each book on the floor in the center of the classroom and each kid gets to take one wrapped-book and keep it. The only rule is that you’re not allowed to take the gift that you brought in. Now let me tell you about my first grade book exchange. Since I was busy with the Christmas preparations, Mama bought two books for my class book exchange. One was, Junie B. Jones and the Yucky Blucky Fruit Cake and the other one was a cute version of The Night Before Christmas. Mama said I could keep
“Full-metal Holiday,” Illustration by Japanda3
one and bring the other one to the book exchange. I ended up keeping the Junie B. Jones book; after all, I already have my own copy of The Night Before Christmas. When I got to school that day, everything was all set up. My teacher, Ms. Kit, told me to put my book on the floor with everyone else’s. When it was time for the book exchange activity, everyone ran up to the pile and each grabbed a wrapped book. I picked one that was wrapped in brown and gold wrapping paper with snowmen, reindeer, and Santa Claus characters on it. When it was time to open them up, we all opened each gift right away, causing beautiful wrapping paper to fly everywhere. It kind of looked like big confetti. After I opened my present, I just stared at it. I had picked out a boring, old Tom Sawyer book.
Only Lasting a Second By Circe
It spirals through the air
Looking up
Crafted meticulously with arches and spirals Its lands….. It fades….. This ephemeral creation Gorgeous beyond compare Mystical and magical Lasting only a second before it vanishes My first snowflake I wonder how it tastes?
Into a sky shrouded with gray and
white Swirled together The chilled air wraps around me Ice chandeliers drape themselves on every surface Something stirs in the clouds above
the birth of Jesus, and Kwanzaa honors the culture of West Africa. So, these are clearly not American ideas; in fact, two out By: Hephaestus of these so-called “holidays” were celebrated way before even Why is it that all of December the idea of creating the United focuses around the “holidays”? States entered the minds of the And better yet, are they really Founding Fathers of America. American holidays, or religious Also, these three holidays have celebrations? no relation to one another at all – In ancient times, the Greeks Kwanzaa and Chanukah are recmarked out times on their calenognized simply because of their dars in which they would honor proximity to Christmas. my family atop Mt. Olympus, Memorial Day and July 4th are but you don’t see Americans just two examples of American embracing these important reliholidays created by and for the gious events and claiming it was American people. However, you their own idea. don’t see pages among pages of Chanukah honors the strife that ads in newspapers with sublimiJews had to endure while under nal advertising during these holiforeign rule, Christmas honors
The Truth of the Holidays
It was nothing compared to everyone else’s books. Dan Penn ended up picking out the book I brought in. My best friend, Duncan Joint, ended up getting a Shrek book with buttons that made weird sounds. Compared to those two books, mines looked about as much fun as a lonely piece of cardboard, which was exactly what it was made out of. When I got home, I showed the book to Mama, expecting her to agree the book was boring, too. But as soon as I showed her the book, she said it used to be one of her favorites when she was a kid. Then we read it together and Tom Sawyer ended up being one of the funniest kids I’ve ever read about. I ended up loving the book after that. It ended up being a great holiday season filled with fun…and books.
Gliding towards my outstretched hand
Reaching out I strain against gravity to grasp this peculiar wonder
days. Instead, Americans celebrate these two holidays with a festive barbeque. In addition, Memorial Day also allows us to recognize those who sacrificed their lives and their loved ones so we can still be free, although this tends to not receive as much attention. As humans, we try our best to push aside all of the negative feelings trapped inside of us and instead engulf our emotions in gratefulness and glee. But in order for the world to be in balance, both good and bad must exist. Memorial Day should be a day of sorrow and repentance; not all holidays are meant to be festive. As a nation, Americans should focus on holidays that are im-
portant to everyone, and leave religious holidays to be celebrated in their own communities. I appreciated the celebrations on Mt. Olympus, and owning our own cultural practices. We didn’t need our holidays spread across other cultures. Perhaps focusing on American holidays, and leaving others to be recognized in their own cultures that will lessen the commercialism surrounding Christmas, and will also reduce confusion around grouping holidays together that are not similar. One thing all Americans have in common is truly American holidays, which I enjoy watching when they’re celebrated with patriotism and clarity of purpose.
The Tale of Two Sisters By Nemesis People rot away and countries eventually collapse-even the Imperial Capital's golden thousand year reign has fallen to corruption. Humans have turned into monsters, and the strong eat the weak. Evil walks the street. The government officials are corrupt and bloated on power. The common people have become poor and the practice of selling one’s own children has become frequent. Two girls clutch each other in the darkness. The older girl has crimson red eyes while the younger girl has deep black eyes. A government official surveys them as he makes his purchase. The girls wordlessly watch their parents shuffle away as they are loaded into a metal carriage. The carriage sways as they are swept away. “Where are we going, Akame?” The younger sister questions. “I don’t know, but it looks like from today on we can only depend on each other. Don’t worry I’ll never forsake you.” Akame says. After an hour of hard riding, the carriage slows to a stop and two large men step into “Fractured Crystals,” Photograph by Andromeda
the carriage and muffle their faces with chloroform soaked cloths. Their limp bodies are carried deep into a fortress like building. The two girls are shoved into a dark metal room. As they slowly awake, their eyes adjust to the darkness, and they realize that they are not alone. Other young children surround them and peer at them curiously. After a few minutes, light penetrates the inky darkness and the door slowly hisses open. A government official walks through surrounded by a multitude of guards and researchers. He splays his hands out in
“Snowy Patches Strewn,” Photograph by Androme-
a warming way and cheerfully begins to talk. “Welcome children, it has taken a few days to assemble all of you here. I am known as the head researcher of this lovely development and you will address me as father. You must be heartbroken at how you parent’s abandoned you for just a few hundred dollars, but don’t worry, we’ll take good care of you as long as you follow the protocols here. As you may know, the Empire is slowly deteriorating. This is due to the terrorists and pesky revolutionists in our country. These renegades are dragging down the order and increasing crime. You have been specifically chosen to end this and bring glory and honor to you Empire. Rejoice the time has come to cleanse the Empire of the traitorous ones.” “Rubbish,” a boy calls, “the one who is ruining this country is the Prime Minister.” The government official shakes his head and casually takes out his pistol and shoots the young boy through his head. The children watch wordlessly as the boy’s body falls silently to the ground. “Just behave and you will be treated well, misbehave and you face the same fate as that young boy” the government official states. “Well then, enough with the long faces the project of the 100 Pure Children shall start now!” To be continued… 13
The Last President
Jim screamed at me to put my head down, but I assured him By Poseidon that there was no way he could see me; after all, the windows Chapter 3 were tinted and it was the darEvery turn we took, he fokest night of the year. llowed. Our chauffeur did As if he had read my mind, the everything he could to shake the man's eyes found mine and my car off our tail-turning every five heart stopped. For the longest seconds, making U-turns, even three seconds of my life, we marunning a red light. At one point de eye contact and his dead exwe were going at least thirty pression turned into an evil, alover the limit. Sara was freaking most menacing grin. Suddenly out, and so was I. But what sca- he made a sharp U-turn and drored me even more was the fact ve in the opposite direction. Bethat Jim had been calling Matt fore I could say anything, the and Alex for ten minutes, and man was gone. they still hadn't answered. Matt and Alex, the two other Chapter 4 agents who accompanied us at There must have been at least dinner, were supposed to stay fifteen Secret Service vehicles close to our car in case anything swarming around the hotel parhappened, but we hadn't heard king lot. As soon as we pulled from them since we left the res- up, an unfamiliar group of agents taurant. Jim tried his radio, the took us out of the car and rushed phone in the car, even his cell us into the hotel. phone. They didn't answer. What We’d been expected to arrive could we do? We couldn't call at the hotel over an hour earlier the police because the car behind and news of our disappearance us wasn't doing anything illegal. had spread fast. One of the As far as we knew it could've agents at the hotel was interrogajust been a person who was ting Jim; asking him a million going to the exact place we were questions that Jim simply coulgoing. Doubtful, considering that dn’t answer. None of us could. we had been driving in circles After a tense conversation, the for the last five minutes and the agent asked Jim if they could car was still following us. talk in private, and my wife and I Jim called the Secret Service were left alone in our room. Field Office in New York but the I turned to see Sara lying in call didn't go through. He tried bed, exhausted from what we from my phone but once again, had just experienced. I went out no service. It was as if our car to the balcony and leaned against had become a virtual dead zone. the wall, staring out into the It was strange seeing Jim as Hudson River and beyond. There nervous as he was. This wasn't were so many thoughts going the first scare we'd had during through my mind at once that I the campaign, and he’d always thought my head was going to been calm and reserved when explode. Who was that man? things got bad. What exactly did he want? Jim had no idea who could I realized that the man was possibly be following us through probably trying to send me a the abandoned streets of New message. Why else would he York City in the middle of the turn around as soon as I made night. They'd been following us eye contact with him? He had ever since we left the restaurant. been following us as we drove Not knowing what threat the around in circles for an hour, and man in the car posed, Jim beghe suddenly decided to turn ged us to keep our heads down, around and leave us alone? But and we did, for the most part. if he was trying to send a messaI was scared, but my curiosity ge, what was it? I had never seen got the best of me. Could this this man before in my life! I had possibly be the same guy I had no idea what he could possibly seen earlier? If it was, what did want from me. It just didn't make he want? I slowly got up and any sense. looked back at the man, and onAs I walked back into the ce again I knew... it was him. room, the agent who had been The glove was a dead giveatalking to Jim asked if I could way. He carried the same emo- have a word with him in private. tionless expression on his face When I stepped into the hall, I that he had earlier that day. This was relieved to see Matt and was the closest I'd been to the Alex standing next to the door. man since I first saw him in the "Matt! Alex! You have no idea crowd that morning. I noticed how glad I am to see you!" I that he was actually much older said. They paid me no attention than I. His black sunglasses were however, and walked into the almost as shiny as his head. He room across the hall. They acted looked like a skinny version of very strange...It was almost as if Al Capone.
they hadn't heard me. The agent followed me into the hall and introduced himself. "My name is agent Nicolas Johnson," he said, as he stared into my eyes in the creepiest way. It was almost as if he was looking through me, not at me. For whatever reason, I suddenly got the same uneasy feeling I had had at the restaurant earlier that evening. Agent Johnson proceeded to ask me questions about what had happened. I told him that I didn't want to talk about it, and that even if I wanted to, I didn't know anything. He ignored what I was saying and continued bombarding me with questions. Somewhere between "what did the man look like?" and "what did your wife order at the restaurant?", I realized something that made me even more uneasy then the way the man was looking at me. "Where's Jim?" I asked. Not surprisingly, Agent Johnson ignored me. "Where. Is. Jim." I asked again. Finally, Johnson stopped talking. "Who?" he asked. "JIM. Agent Jim Daniels. The man in charge of my protection detail. Where is he?" I demanded. "Ah. Agent Daniels." he said. "Agent Daniels has been...how should I put this...relieved of his duties." I was more than shocked. "What! Why! Jim has been with me from the beginning! You have no right to fire him!" Johnson's face turned very grim and his stare was even creepier than before. "Agent Daniels failed to follow protocol and was directly responsible for the events of this evening. He led you off course in an attempt to lose the other agents in your protection detail and ignored their phone calls and messages all night. Your friend, Jim, allowed that man to follow you and put your life in danger." "That's ridiculous!" I said. "The man had been following us since we left the restaurant! Alex and Matt ditched us. Not the other way around. And they didn't try to contact us at all! We were the ones trying to contact them!" "With all due respect sir, you have to let me do my job." Johnson said. "It's been a long day, I recommend you get some rest." "No! I'm not going anywhere until you bring Jim back." I said. Johnson ignored me and started walking towards the room across the hall. "Well if Jim's gone, who's going to be in charge of my protection detail?" I demanded.
Johnson looked back at me with a menacing grin that sent shivers down my spine. "That, my friend, would be me." Frustrated, I walked back into our room, slamming the door behind me. I didn't believe any of the things Johnson had said. There was no way Jim had planned everything. I'd known Jim for as long as I could remember! I wanted to do something, but what could I do? Johnson had everybody convinced that Jim was the bad guy! Angry, confused, and exhausted, I lay down on my bed, and passed out. I woke up the next day determined to forget about the mysterious man from the day before. I had a campaign to run, and the first presidential debate was coming up in less than a week! I knew I had a lot of work to do but before I could do anything, I had to call Jim. I needed to sort out this mess so Jim could come back and I wouldn't have to deal with Johnson. I must have called him five times before I gave up and decided I'd try again later. At this point, I was more than worried. Jim always answered his phone, especially when it's me calling. Sara had already gone downstairs to eat breakfast so I figured I'd spend a few hours studying my notes for the debate. As I sat down in front of my computer, I saw something outside that caught my eye. I went to the window and looked out at the parking lot, where I saw two people talking to each other behind a white van. I went out onto the balcony to get a closer look. After seeing who the two men were, I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Behind the white van was Johnson, handing a stack of cash to the man who had followed us the night before. I was terrified. Suddenly, I realized I was in plain site and I had to get into the room or else they would see me. But before I could do anything, Johnson saw me, and our eyes met. He screamed something at the man, and they both started running towards the hotel. I knew they would find me in no time and we had to leave immediately. I ran back into the room to find Sara sitting at my desk with the phone in her hand, crying. I was screaming at her, telling her we had to leave, but she wouldn't move. At that moment, I knew what had happened. I heard the words in my head before they left her lips. "It's Jim...he's dead." To be continued...
The Ocean’s Child By Calypso
“Wake up, scum.” The prison guard snapped, rattling the bars of Rowan’s cell. Rowan opened his eyes and glared at the guard before standing up silently and stretching. “’urry it up in there. The gallows are gettin’ ‘ungry.” Rowan met the guard’s eyes evenly as the guard opened up the cell. He maintained his gaze as the guard shackled Rowan’s hands. The guard didn’t even blink. The guard led Rowan down the hall past numerous empty cells. A dank stench hung in the air from the water dripping down the walls, and Rowan wished in vain that he had been born with the Gift like Pearl had. “Oh, Rowan, not you, too.” He heard a familiar voice moan, and he looked up to see Eleanor in shackles in line before him. Her dark brown hair, which usually fell down her back in lustrous curls, was a tangled mess, and her face sported a black eye and a cut on her lip that had just begun to heal. He opened his mouth to apologize, to comfort, to say anything, but the guard silenced him with a sharp whack to the back of his head. There were three others, and the guards had lined them up according to age, oldest in the front and youngest in the back. “How did they find you?” Eleanor asked, but a guard quickly shushed her. “Your crimes against the city are unforgivable,” said the sturdily built guard at the front of the line, his gruff voice booming out from under his thick grey beard. “The City Council finds each of your actions punishable only by death. You will be marched through the streets to face the shame of your crimes, and then you will be hanged. If you have any last words, it’s too late. Had you cooperated during interrogations, you would not be here.” He began walking down the line of merfolk, stopping at Eleanor and glaring at her, saying, “I heard you gave the interrogator trouble, scum. I’ll make sure your end is particularly miserable.” She glared at him silently, and he hit her, snarling, “Don’t you start your insolence with me,
scum.” Rowan growled and lunged forward at the guard, clipping the guard with his shoulder and forcing him to the ground. “Rowan!” Eleanor shrieked as two other guards wrestled Rowan down, hitting him repeatedly in the stomach and face before shoving him back in line. Rowan stumbled back, and the guard he’d tackled stood, fixing his uniform and dusting himself off before saying, “Move those two to the front of the line. I want to see them go first.” The guards moved Rowan and Eleanor past two middle-aged mermaids and one elderly merman, who only bowed his head and closed his eyes as he shook his head. “It’s such a pity.” The old man whimpered, and the guard roared, “What did you say, scum?” The man was silent, keeping his head down as his body shook. The guard’s eyes narrowed, but he just snarled, “Get them out of my sight.” The guards ushered them down the hallway and past the prison gates into the sunlight. The city streets were empty except for those few who had come to see the condemned. All of them were human; the merfolk were boarded up in their tiny apartments or servants’ quarters, turning away from those lost and hoping with every fiber of their beings that they wouldn’t be next. Rowan’s eyes flickered this way and that, scanning the crowds for a familiar face or open alleyway. Any sign of hope will do, he thought to himself. One guard led the way, and another took up the end of the line, with another on each side of the line. None of them said a word, and the streets were silent except for the occasional curse aimed at the merfolk. Suddenly, Rowan noticed something strange ahead—an open door. He glanced up at the storefront and recognized the café as the one owned by a friend of his father’s. He looked up at the windows and saw Simon, another merman, standing there, nodding his head towards the door. Rowan glanced at the guards around him apprehensively be-
fore looking behind him. Eleanor frowned at him, cocking her head to the side slightly in curiosity as he gestured with his eyes towards the open door ahead. Her eyes widened, and he nodded. The guard to her left noticed them, and barked, “You two! Qui’ your staring a’ each other!” Before any of the other guards could turn and look, they bolted towards the store, shoving civilians out of their way. Once they were through the door, Simon slammed it shut and barricaded it with a large cabinet. Rowan helped him as Simon moaned, “You weren’t supposed to bring anyone with you.” “Open up!” The guards roared, banging on the door. “Harboring criminals is a crime punishable by death!” “I couldn’t leave her.” Rowan snapped. “Now, are you going to help us or not?” “There’s a back door. My wife prepared a backpack, but only one. I have something for the shackles.” He said, fumbling around in his pockets before puling out a skeleton key. He undid Eleanor’s shackles first as his wife hurried down the stairs. “Two of you?” She exclaimed but quickly shook her head. “Never mind that. Take this. I packed some sandwiches and jam and supplies.” “What about you?” Eleanor asked as Simon unshackled Rowan’s wrists. “We were leaving the city anyway.” Simon’s wife said, looking at Rowan. “Besides, we promised your parents to help you if anything should ever happen to you.” Suddenly, they heard the glass window crack, and she said hurriedly, “Go, now. There’s a back exit. It’ll lead you to a back alley that’ll take you to Baker Street. Go!” “Thank you.” Rowan said as he took the backpack. Slinging it over his shoulder, he motioned for Eleanor to follow him. They ran out the back door and into the dark alleyway. Wrinkling their noses in an attempt to block out the horrid stench from the dumpsters, they skirted around the trash and splashed through filthy puddles. Behind them, they heard a guard shout, “They’re heading to Baker
Street! You take two men and head them off there.” Rowan pulled Eleanor down another alley that led to a small side street. He motioned for her to crouch behind a dumpster, and they huddled there as they heard the guards run past. “Where are we going?” Eleanor breathed. “We’re meeting my siblings over by Hyde Street.” He whispered. “Hyde Street?” She exclaimed, and Rowan quickly shushed her. Her eyes wide, she whispered, “But that’s two miles from here! How are we going to make it?” “By being very stealthy and extremely lucky.” He replied, glancing around the dumpster. The police had passed, and the street was starting to come alive. The midmorning throng wouldn’t appear for another hour, so they’d have to wait. Rowan settled down on a discarded crate and opened up the pack Simon and his wife had given them. “Rowan? Shouldn’t we go while the streets are empty? You know, while there are fewer people to notice us?” Eleanor asked. “We’ll stand out if we go now.” he said simply, pulling out a jar of raspberry preserves. He sighed, shaking his head before putting it back in the bag. “The police just ran by, so everyone’s going to be on high alert, especially on such an empty street. We should wait until the crowd’s big enough to get lost in.” “Fine.” She said, “What’s in the pack?” “A lot, actually. She managed to stuff a sleeping bag in here, along with five sandwiches, a jar of raspberry preserves, a beanie, a knife, a canteen of water, and a water filter.” Rowan said. “Why do we need raspberry preserves?” Eleanor asked, and he shrugged. “Why not?” They waited in the alleyway for two hours before they stood. The crowd had swelled, mulling about doing their mid-Saturday morning shopping. Rowan took off his sweatshirt and handed it to Eleanor, saying, “Here, put the hood up to cover your hair and face.”
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TOC cont.
“What about you?” She asked as she pulled it on. He took out the beanie and pulled it on, covering as much of his blonde hair as he could. Eleanor tittered, and he said firmly, “We will not speak of this hat ever again. Come on, let’s go.” They walked out of the alley, melting seamlessly into the crowd, following its current. They allowed themselves to be led to the end of the street, keeping their faces down and their stances unassuming. They walked at the pace of the crowd, careful not to move too quickly despite the anxiousness and fear that was biting at them to go faster. When they were one block from Hyde Street, they saw a guard walking the other way, scanning the faces of the pedestrians. Eleanor paused, but Rowan urged her onward. “Look at him like everyone else is, but don’t let your gaze linger.” He murmured. “He’s looking for a blonde man and a brunette woman. If he doesn’t see that, he’ll look past us without a second thought.” She followed his instructions, her face paling slightly as the guard turned to look at her, but his eyes passed over her. Once they rounded the corner, she breathed a sigh of relief. Rowan looked down each alleyway for his siblings, keeping close to the right side of the street. Suddenly, they heard a clanging on one of the dumpsters, and they walked over to find Sylvia, Pearl, and Ash crouched behind it. “Eleanor, you’re safe!” Sylvia exclaimed. “Thanks to your brother, yes.” She said. “What are you going to do now?” “We’re going to find our uncle.” Sylvia said, and after a slight pause and a glance at Rowan, she added, “You can come with us, if you’d like.” “Are you sure?” Eleanor asked, and Sylvia nodded. “Positive. Come on, we don’t have any time to waste.” Sylvia said, taking Ash’s hand. “Ro, you came back!” Ash said delightedly, but Sylvia shushed him, saying gently, “Yes, he did, but we still have to be quiet. We’re going to start another round of the silent game, alright?” They started off once more,
this time only taking back roads and alleys until they reached the Stalton District, where the rich government officials lived in their mansions in their painstakingly clean, gated community. They slipped through the dented section of the gate where a rebel group of merfolk had crashed a truck into the gate in a valiant but failed attempt to start a riot. It had once been guarded diligently, but over the years, the guards had become complacent in their duties. Once inside, they took the servants’ routes to Mr. Thomas Goodley’s house, where their uncle worked. Mr. Thomas Goodley was a kindhearted human, if kindhearted could be used to describe a man who signed away the rights of an entire species without batting an eye. Despite his legislative actions, he hired only merfolk to assure himself that he wasn’t as bad as his peers. More importantly, he had hired Elias Sutton, who was waiting for Rowan, Sylvia, Pearl, Ash, and Eleanor at the servants’ door to the Goodley mansion. “Come in, come in.” Elias said, opening the door wide for them. Elias handed them each a plate with a sandwich of thickly sliced ham and mustard on it, and he said, “I heard from Simon about what happened.” “Can you help us?” Sylvia asked as Ash and Pearl dug into their sandwiches. “I think so. Mr. Goodley’s shipping several crates of his finest porcelain vases out to his country home tomorrow. It might just so happen that a few of them get stolen off a hijacked truck on their way there.” Elias said with a wink. “How many crates?” Rowan asked. “Only three.” Elias said, his smile fading. “I had expected four of you; I thought the little ones could squeeze in together.” “Can we see the crates?” Sylvia asked, and he nodded. He led them down the hall and in to a large warehouse-like room. Ash and Pearl gaped at the enormous empty space, and Ash asked in wonder, “Is Mr. Goodley the president?” “No, son,” Elias said, chuckling. “But he is very rich.” Elias led them to a group of six different sized crates stacked up on a cargo loader. Elias gestured
to the three on top and said, “These are the empty ones. I put the vases in the bottom ones. Ash and Pearl should be able to fit in this one, but I’m not sure about the rest of you…” Rowan pulled the largest one down and opened it before turning to Eleanor and asking, “Do you think we’d be able to fit?” “Rowan, I can’t ask you to—” “We’re not leaving without you.” He insisted, and she sighed, “I think we could fit. But will there be enough air inside?” “I drilled holes in these. That way the hijackers will know which ones to take.” Elias said, opening the two medium sized crates and helping Ash and Pearl up. “In you go.” “Where are we going?” Ash asked as he climbed in and peeked his head up over the side. “I can’t tell you. I can’t risk you giving away the location if you’re caught. It has to remain a secret.” Elias said as he helped Sylvia up. Rowan put the large crate back in position and helped Eleanor up before climbing up. Rowan sat down first and gestured for Eleanor to sit on his lap. “Ready? Elias asked, and they assured him they were. He hammered the lids onto the crates and patted each one, saying, “Good luck, little ones.” The next day, they felt themselves jostled about as they were loaded onto a cargo truck. They tried to ignore the oppressive claustrophobia that was building up the longer they sat in the hot, cramped dark-
ness, until finally Ash called out to the others, “I’m hungry.” “Just wait a little while longer.” Sylvia called back, her voice slightly muffled. All of a sudden, the truck came to a jerking stop. They heard shouts and sounds of a struggle before the back of the truck was opened. Footsteps clanged about before stopping in front of their crates. Suddenly, they felt fresh air on their faces and they looked up to see two young men with mischievous glints in their eyes smiling down at them. One of them held out a hand to Sylvia and said with a grin, “Welcome to the resistance.”
To Be Continued... “Merform Rowan,” Illustration by Hecate