May 2015

May 2015

Midnight Writers

Table of Contents Cover: “Wallflower Speaks,” an illustration by Hecate This Page: “The Price of Knowledge,” an illustration by Hecate

“You Came Back,” a poem by Zenyatta “What is a friend?” a poem by Bellum “Bear with me,” a photograph by Firebird

Page 11:

“Flash of Green Light,” an illustration by Maia “Voldemort,” a poem by Zenyatta Ask Aphro & Dite  Cap seeks guidance in handling cowork- “Queen Mab,” an illustration by The Teumessian Fox ers  Aphro’s declassified half-blood survival “Queen Mab,” a poem by Corvus guide Page 12: Calypso’s Island: “Are you there yet?” a poem by Corvus  The Lady of the Underworld bids her “Lullaby,” an illustration by Maia minions farewell “Taylor,” a poem by Bellum Echo’s Echo “Dear Prim,” a letter by Calypso  Our favorite nymph reminisces before Page 13: her departure “Morphing Colors,” a poem by Zenyatta Page 4: “Green light in the sky,” a photograph by “Wrath of Zeus,” a photograph by Calypso Calypso “Storm,” a poem by Zenyatta “Safe and Sound,” an illustration by Maia “Beauty is more than brightness,” a poem by Page 14: Bellum “To the Boy I Didn’t Know,” a poem by “Opposites Attract?” a poem by Bellum Rabid Fairy “Heaven Smiles Down,” a photograph by “A Letter to Perseus,” by Bravery Bluejay “Artemis Controls Wind,” a photograph by Page 5: Nike “Watchdog,” a photograph by Aceso Page 15: “The Tragedy of Darkness and Light,” a “The Jaunt Through Phonesia,” a short story poem by Bluejay

by Dawn “Koi Fish,” a poem by Rabid Fairy “One Last Adventure,” a photograph by “Swimming in Circles,” a photograph by Caspian Aceso Page 16: “On My Way,” a photograph by Japanda3 Caspian’s Corner Page 6:  Thor: The Dark World (2013) “Caution,” a poem by Zenyatta “Who Dares Disturb My Slumber,” a photo-  X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014)  Guardians of the Galaxy (2014) graph by Poseidon  The Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015) “Ready for Takeoff,” a photograph by Po“I Believe I can Fly,” a photograph by Poseidon seidon “wings,” a poem by Bandersnatch “A Little Birdie Told Me,” a photograph by Page 7: Poseidon “Girl with Blue Hair,” an illustration by Ra- Page 17: ven “So legit,” a poem by Luna Moon Sparkles “End of the Line,” a poem by A.T. Pacem “Righteousness Surging,” a photograph by “Dear Future Husband,” a poem by Luna Caspian Moon Sparkles “My OTP,” a poem by The Teumessian Fox “Clean,” a poem by Bellum Page 18: “A Star is Born,” a photograph by Bluejay “P.M. (Pt. I),” a poem by A.T. Pacem Page 8: “W.M. (Pt. 1),” a poem by A.T. Pacem “Softened,” a poem by Aradia “P.M. (Pt. II),” a poem by A.T. Pacem “Hey, bud,” a photograph by Caspian “Midnight Blooms,” a photograph by Fire- “W.M. (Pt. II),” a poem by A.T. Pacem “Skeletal Memories,” a photograph by bird Aceso “Cherry Blossoms,” a poem by Zenyatta

Page 3:

Page 9:

“Why I Remain,” a short story by Tiresias “The Weaver,” an illustration by Calliope “Something Borrowed, Something Blue,” a photograph by Japanda3 “Grow,” a poem by Aradia

Page 10:

“Weasley is Our King,” an illustration by Khokokat “Dear Mr. Weasley,” a letter by Dawn

Page 19:

“The Best Version of Yourself,” a rant by Apollo “Justice,” a photograph by Caspian “To Live,” a poem by Aradia

Page 20:

“Ending,” a short story by Janus “Beginning,” a short story by Janus

Page 21:

“The Lies about Endings,” a poem by Rabid

Fairy “Supercilious Steps,” a poem by Vivian Griselda “A Broken Connection,” a poem by Rabid Fairy “End of the Line,” a photograph by Aceso

Page 22:

“Obscurity,” a short story by Janus “I Once Saw a Goddess,” a photograph by Nike “New Beginnings,” a poem by Bellum “The end,” a short story by Corvus

Page 23:

“The End of the World,” a short story by Hades “Things Just Started Piling Up,” a photograph by The Owlish Bookworm

Page 24:

“The End of the World,” continued “Festering in Despair,” an illustration by Hecate

Page 25:

“A Different Story,” a poem by Aradia “Utopiosphere,” an illustration by Alice Fraser “Battered,” a poem by Aradia “Muffled and Bound,” a poem by Aradia “War,” a poem by Luna Moon Sparkles

Page 26:

“Falling Dust,” a short story by Chronos “Away From Here,” a photograph by Aceso

Page 27:

“Amusment Parks are just so much fun,” a poem by Hecate “Fruity,” a photograph by Echo “Burger Bombs,” an illustration by Hecate

Page 28:

“An Ice Filled Illusion,” a short story by Amanda Farine “Summer,” a poem by The Teumessian Fox “Just Hanging Around,” a photograph by Dawn

Page 29:

“Carnival Tail: Chapter Eight,” a story by Calypso

Page 30:

“Carnival Tail,” continued “Golden Gaze,” an illustration by Hecate

Page 31:

“Carnival Tail,” continued “Aurelia’s Prime,” an illustration by Hecate

Page 32:

“Carnival Tail,” continued “Far Past Gone,” an illustration by Hecate

Page 33:

“Carnival Tail,” continued “In Another Life,” an illustration by Hecate

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Goodbye, seniors!

issuu.com/midnightwriters midnightwriters2015@gmail.com

Ask Aphro & Dite

Dear Aphrodite, I'm not sure if you're an actual deity, but if I work alongside Thor, I guess I can believe in Aphrodite. I'm having trouble some trouble with my coworkers. One dropped off the grid, and another refuses to work with us. It's tearing our team apart. We work well together when we have to, but the group dynamic is changing, and I don't know what to do. Please help.

Yours, Cap Dearest Cap, Ah! Always good to hear from one of little Thorry’s friends! Not to worry, this is my forte.

Now, for the poor darling who’s disappeared.

This friend of yours probably feels left out and needs a bit of tender, loving care. Show him that all of you need him and want him as a part of the team, and maybe he’ll come back. For this other coworker, that’s easily fixed. If you wish to establish some camaraderie, I suggest sitting the coworker down and asking him what on earth he’s thinking. Perhaps he’s going through some inconsequential human difficulties, or seeing things from a different point of view. Hear his side of the story and see if you can reach a compromise. If you can get him sorted, then the group dynamic will fall into place. All you need is a few team building exercises—team trampoline-dodgeball, group mural-painting, and group baking should do the trick.

Best of luck, Dite Dear Aphrodite, Something attacked me today. I don't know what it was, but it was big and had horns and wings, and it screamed something about half-bloods at me. Everyone's telling me that I must've imagined it, but I know what I saw. Help!

Yours, Scared My dear Scared, Take a deep breath. Bad news first, yes? It was real, was very probably trying to eat you, and there are most certainly more to come after you.

But let’s move on to more positive thoughts, shall we? The trick to dealing with monsters and demons is supernatural friends and a bit of magic yourself. See, given your tragic back-story and sudden onset of strange happenings, I’d say you’re in a prime position to be a hero in your story. Give it a few hours, and I’ll bet you my gorgeous flowing locks that some people you’ve never seen before will show up. They’ll know your name and help you through whatever happens next. The other thing will take a bit of time, but it’s to believe in yourself, in your abilities.

At some point in time, you’ll be tested or challenged, at a time when you think all hope is lost and there’s nowhere to go. It’s then that you’ll have to remember that you are enough and you can emerge victorious. Well, that was quite deep, wasn’t it?

Do tell me how it goes, Dite

Calypso’s Island

Hello, Midnighters! Or should I say goodbye? As many of you have probably heard by now, I’m leaving. Being Lady of the Underworld in Hades and Persephone’s absence has been one of the most incredible experiences in my long life, but even the best things can’t last forever. Never fear, though, I’m not going to become a recluse again; Ogygia feels a little small after having ruled a kingdom. Instead, I’m moving into the private sector.

Last month, when I helped Hermes with his package delivery system, he brought up the possibility of me working with him to expand his services. Apparently communication with those out in space is abysmal, and he wants to fix that, especially with the advent of human colonies just around the corner (but you didn’t hear that from me).

Of course, there are always improvements to be made here on earth, too, and with my connections as a nymph and Titaness, I could help make shipping safer and quicker. And just think of the travel benefits. I’ve even asked Echo to join me, so we’ll be traveling the world together. I don’t want to jinx anything, but it’s going to be amazing.

Now, I know what you’re thinking: what about Midnight Writers? Don’t worry, my lovely little minions! I didn’t forget about you. Before I accepted Hermes’ offer, I lined up a group of excellent writers and artists to take over. Nyx will be your president, Bandersnatch will be your VP, and Khokokat, Janus, Raven, and Rabid Fairy will be your editors. I have every confidence that they will do an amazing job.

I’m going to miss you, though. Two years and sixteen magazines may seem like a lot, but it’s flown by so fast, and there’ll never be anything like it ever again for me. I started this column under Hades’ reign, which makes it even harder to let go of. Sharing my thoughts and my stories with you has been so freeing, and it’ll be strange when October comes around and there’s no need for me to write another column.

Thank you all so much for sharing your amazing art and writing with me; it’s been a pleasure and an honor working with you, and I’m so glad that I’ve gotten the chance to become friends with so many of you. I can’t wait to read and see your work in the future, and I wish you all the best in whatever you choose to do. Carpe noctem.

Echo’s Echo

Hello, hello Midnight Writers!

And that was the last greeting I will ever be saying to you folks here. Things are getting sentimental now. Excuse me while I grab ten boxes of Kleenex.

It feels like it was just yesterday when I interviewed John-O-Lantern, my very first guest for Echo’s Echoes. Fifteen columns later, here I am, writing my last one. And I’m going to miss this so much.

First, shoutout to all the guest stars I’ve dragged over here to be featured (except for that stupid blossom tree that bestowed upon my forehead a giant purple welt)!

Without you, I would have nothing to echo, and there would be no column for Echo, and Echo would continue spending her days stalking Narcissus and crying after every time he rejects her. Basically, thank you for giving me a life.

And for the rest of you, it’s been an incredible two years—a meager amount of time for the thousands-of-years-old nymph I unfortunately am—being your Vice President, and I’m so honored to have been given this opportunity to do so!

You all are incredible writers, artists, photographers, and people in general. I will certainly miss inhaling baked goods and fangirling over the magazine and just seeing all your beautiful faces at every monthly meeting. I will miss editing your submissions at the godly late night/early morning hours in order to get the magazine put together as soon as possible. But most importantly, I will miss being part of this splendid club consisting of the greatest people, and I hope that you guys enjoy being a Midnight Writer as much as I do.

I’ll be joining Calypso in helping Hermes with his shipping business. Here’s to being their third wheel again! I promise that I will make time to visit you guys on off-days. So please don’t forget about me!

Otherwise it’ll be terribly awkward when I crash a meeting in the future.

It’s been real, Writers. Carpe Noctem in aeternum.

Echo out.

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

Storm

By Zenyatta The clods were split apart by lightA jagged hole was cut in Night.

A blade was swung with sudden might And it punctured the sea of clouds.

The bade was seen by many eyes, And people feared that the sun would not rise, Their fearful cries lifted towards the skies And were drowned by rolls of thunder.

First came light then noise, And then droplets fell.

Women, girls, men and boys Knew the storm ended well, And to sleep they all fell.

“Wrath of Zeus,” Photograph by Calypso

Beauty is more than brightness

By Bellum

Does the rain ever speak to you?

Pitter Patter Pitter Patter Does the whoosh of the wind Ever move you Do you ever feel as if It’s a beautiful day Even when the sun is asleep

The darkness can be beautiful The rain And the thunder And the powerful winds All have their own stories to tell Their own wisdom to bring Don’t ever believe something isn’t beautiful Just because it isn’t bright and warm After All The glaciers in Alaska are stunning But are ice cold

Opposites Attract?

By Bellum

Her hair was sunshine Her laugh the morning dew Her smile the sweetest song My heart the weakest one My tears a tsunami My feelings a storm Was I too dark for her?

Or was she too bright for me?

4

“Heaven Smiles Down,” Photograph by Bluejay

The Tragedy of Darkness and Light

By Bluejay

-I am a lonely wisp of shadowed sight.

My fingers tremble more than she would know.

Watch her eyes shine more vividly than snow, I long for brightness and pure, holy light.

I am the shadow of a raven’s flight, Inside I’m broken but won’t let it show.

Yet you need darkness in order to glow.

Together we can light the darkest nights.

-I am a careful breath of tropic air, But we have been warned to keep from the shade.

I see him watching from the lone darkness, Yet everything that is fragile will tear.

Soon we will find that our heartbreak will fade, And our memories will be nothingness.

“Watchdog,” Photograph by Aceso

Koi Fish

By Rabid Fairy

Dark shallow waters With only a splash of color Swirling languidly Splotches of white and orange and yellow Drifting aimlessly through the gray A sweet serenity in the simplicity Of the calmness in their idle life Elegant and languorous As they swim in figure eights No purpose and no stress Just effortless beauty

“Swimming in Circles,” Photograph by Aceso

“On My Way,” Photograph by Japanda3

5

Caution

“Who Dares Disturb My Slumber,” Photograph by Poseidon

By Zenyatta I peak out silently to see what is around.

Is there a predator well-hidden on the ground?

Is their an eagle flying midst the clouds.

No all is well- I cannot hear a sound.

So I hop out and spread my wings with pleasure.

The gift of flight is such a joyful pleasure.

I soar up high and twirl through the air.

My glee at being free has not a measure.

But then a shadow plunges toward me, I cannot turn my head behind to see, I feel as pain explodes through by whole body, And darkness fills my eyes immediately.

wings

By Bandersnatch i want to be free of responsibility i want to soar through the air without a single care i want to leave without a glance at what held me in a trance i want to let go to fly over white snow i want to dance on a cloud where the silence is loud i want to shine across space and time i want to take flight with no trace of fright i want to stand and sing feel the wind in my wings

6

“Ready for Takeoff,” Photograph by Poseidon

So legit

By Luna moon sparkles Leather boots Pale skin Vineyard vines on deck.

Girl, she thinks she's so legit.

Put that fake tan on, I think I'm gonna barf.

You're better than that girl.You are like the grim reaper You're better than those babes.

Dear Future Husband

By Luna Moon Sparkles Don't listen to that Megan Trainor lady.

I ain't doing that for you baby.

If you expect me to cook or clean, I'll leave for another man or woman baby.

I expect nothing from you, Except to love me like crazy.

Cause we're equals in this war together.

“Girl with Blue Hair,” Illustration by Raven

Clean

By Bellum A year 365 days Without Hurting Myself Accomplishment Loving Myself Avoiding those thoughts Staying Strong A year clean This is the end of A chapter of inner strife And the beginning of the rest of my life

“A Star is Born,” Photograph by Bluejay

7

Softened

By Aradia Life is an armful of soft, pink flowers Their sweet scents lavish with love Though the world may fall to pieces around us Here in my arms all is the unchanging The everlasting is green with envy, these Ephemeral bodies and fleeting moments Passing us by like pictures in the rear view mirror We're all the same song and we're all the same love The same dreams, the same timeless sands Our cheeks, our very beating hearts All are pink with joy

“Hey, bud,” Photograph by Caspian

Cherry Blossoms

By Zenyatta The dawn spreads wide Above the tide As pink as a blossom of cherry.

The sky reflects, With due respect, The flowers- pure and airy.

Though spring is gone, The rosy dawn Replaces the cherry flowers.

The sky is pink And I gladly think Of the blooms in cascading bowers.

“Midnight Blooms,” Photograph by Firebird

The Frog

By Bellum

She hopped into our lives Unexpected Uninvited And changed us Croak Croak Croak Croak Every night Her big eyes Stare at us Emerald Green Bumpy around the edges But perfect just the way she is She brings us joy and positivity Not everyone has a frog that loves them But we do

“Dorothy,” Photograph by Aceso

Why I remain

ing of the need to self nourish, and to learn or educate.

By Tiresias Day after day I hear the bustle of those around me; the constant comA soon to be mother rubs her over- motion; the coming and going. When swollen belly and softly whispers, do they stop? Or perhaps they cannot.

“Why haven’t you come out yet?”

The young ones pitter patter from Having heard his mother’s sweet sunrise to sunset until they graduate to susurration breaking through the bar- the heavy, thump thump of adulthood, rier of the warm uterus, the overdue and then the lumbering, dragging, fetus, now more of a baby, begins to squeak-stomp of old age, until finally contemplate. there is no more walking to do.

The child, having spent nine and a And I suppose when they lay down half months in his mother’s constant that final time, they make the decision bodily embrace, had never for a mo- to remain there for the rest of eternity ment considered an alternative, not for the same reason I intend never to until now. leave my fortress of solitude.

Perhaps I might have pondered a While the world around us bustles, different lifestyle, had I any way of rushes, and always goes, I prefer to sit knowing how much time had passed. and think, to not provide, not learn, My home is equipped with no calen- not teach, and not contribute. Though dar, so I had no way of realizing that I all of those qualities seem to be estihad exceeded my due date. mable, both myself and the old man in Or maybe I am just so warm and his grave know life outside to be an cozy here in my own private hotel empty and melancholy state of being. room, that I was hoping to stay as long as the manager would allow.

Or suppose I have no use for the outside world; no time or understand“The Weaver,” Illustration by Calliope “Something Borrowed, Something Blue,” Photograph by Japanda3

Grow

By Aradia I draw foxgloves on my homework Azaleas on my hand The world is iris ridd'n In spirit or on land My mouth is full of flow'ry words I feel the sun within An orchid, tulip. lily, or rose All plants my kith and kin A happy mind is best been grown In soil by joyous hands been sown

9

“Weasley is Our King,” Illustration by Khokokat

You came back

By Zenyatta

Yes, you left, it is true, but you also returned.

Your mistake you bravely admitted.

Remember, my friend, that I greatly love you, In my heart you have been acquitted.

Friends are those who remain In the toughest of times, You were there for me, despite the fights.

You know, and I know, So we need not explain Our holding of hands through the nights.

What is a friend?

By Bellum

What is a friend…?

A companion A buddy A pal Someone who is supposed to be there for you…

So why do they leave…

Why does it hurt?

Why do they never seem to care?

Why do they always seem better off without you?

How can the people who are supposed to Bring you up Love you Celebrate your victories And grieve your losses with you Be the one causing those losses And stopping those victories What makes a friend?

How do you know if someone is truly a friend?

Or an enemy disguised as one How do you know if their feelings are true?

Or if they’re just going to end up hating you?

You returned, you came back.

That's what matters the most.

And though the future is black, I will raise my glass with a smile and toast True love which we do not lack.

10

Dear Mr. Weasley, The other day, I was walking by where the Whomping Willow used to be. And this may look like an average Hogwarts student letter that you probably get all the time, but this is much much more.

When I was walking by the Whomping Willow, my friend Scorpius Malfoy told me about pulling “the Ron Weasley”. I had never heard of “the Ron Weasley” even though I’ve heard of you many times before. I mean you were Harry Potter’s best friend! (Or are you still his best friend?)

After I heard what “the Ron Weasley” was, I was fascinated. No offense, sir, but I sort of always thought of you as the random average Joe kind of friend of Harry’s who he just happened to pick on the first day of school at Hogwarts just because there were no other seats available on the Hogwarts Express! But I guess you were maybe a little more than that since you chose to risk everything just so you could make it to school on the first day “on time”. Which again, no offense sir, is pretty dumb since you used a flying car! Boy aren’t you lucky you weren’t expelled right then and there.

And then you pulled “the Ron Weasley”. I mean that car fell into the branches of the Whomping Willow as I hear it!

Boy aren’t you lucky you didn’t just die that day, and kill Harry Potter too! Wow that would’ve just been terrible.

Unfortunately I’m starting to forget why I wanted to even right this letter to you. I hope I haven’t wasted any of your time and if you can, tell your kids (three is a lot, but nothing compared to how many kids your parents had!) that their friend Lila Lovegood says hi!

Oh and I think my mom knew you, your wife, and Harry when they were in school.

Sincerely, Lila Lovegood (it’s short for Lilac and I thought my mom’s last name was way cooler than my dad’s)

“Bear with me,” Photograph by Firebird

Voldemort

By Zenyatta You were conceived in the absence of love And did not acknowledge its power.

You pushed it away from your life with a shove And an evil, maniacal glower.

However, you fell from the top in the end And learned that you should not ignore True love- between couples or amongst friends, A magic beyond that of yours.

“Flash of Green Light,” Illustration by Maia “Queen Mab,” Illustration by The Teumessian Fox

Queen Mab

By Corvus I come with the moonlight My chariot drawn across the night until I find a girl who is Lost to the labyrinth of dreams Soft breaths disturb my coachman, sending currents Pushing us back, drawing us in My steeds fight it, brushing the tips of the her eyelashes As we land between her brows, her mind in torrents below My silk slipper-clad feet dance across her eyelid It flutters, twitching before she releases a sigh And her dreams come to life Red, a hand in another clasped tight White, sheets wrinkled and promises made Gold, some semblance of security in a tumultuous world Black, the abyss that lurks beneath every thought Colors swirl around me in wisps and I drink it in Somewhere lovers embrace, exchanges are made, a woman in labor pushes out a stillborn But not here Here there is only moonlight And the steady current of her breath ever changing In, and out In, and out 11

Are you there yet

By Corvus Gentle notes float through the air Making their way to your ears Electrical signals race through your mind Telling you you’re safe now You’re home now A white picket fence stands guard Outside your little American Dream As you lay on untrimmed hopes In your freshly mowed backyard Watching the horizon for the first light of dawn Your only solace the sweet notes Echoing in the darkness After everything has faded Except the stars That blur as your eyes droop And you wonder if they’re racing towards you Or you’re racing towards them And if you are just where are you going Or are you there already there

Taylor

By Bellum Blonde hair Curls Then bangs Now wavy and short Constantly changing But somehow staying the same Words of a genius Heart of an angel Best Friend Love of my life Huge Dork Always there even when she’s Traveling around the world Makes me feel important Even though she’s so big She never makes me feel small I hope I can hug her one day Cry into her shoulder and Thank her For holding my hand through everything And for brightening up my life With her Music Smile Personality Friendship

“Lullaby,” Illustration by Maia

Dear Prim

It’s cold now without your body’s warmth, without your head in my

By Calypso arms and your fingers on my jacket.

All I can hope is that wherever you Do you remember how I held you? are, it’s not cold anymore.

Your head cradled in the crook of my It’s getting colder here. The fire arm, my fingers stroking your hair, burned bright, but all it left behind working through the knots even was more smoke, more ashes. Coatthough they’d return in vengeance ing our skin, catching on our hair and within hours. Your fingers clutched nestling in the roots, settling in our my too-large jacket, my legs going lungs. It’s covered everything. numb from your weight. But I never Except for you. dared move except to sing you to You escaped, and some days all I sleep, to help you forget the explowant to do is follow you so that I can sions in the mines and the coal dust hold you again. My songs are worththat clung to our lungs. You hummed less when they fall on nobody’s ears with me, mumbling a few words in but my own. The words jumble, their another key, your eyes fluttering be- meaning as lost as the last echo of the fore relaxing, your breath steadying music. There’s nothing left, but I still before you shifted one last time and hope it reaches you. escaped to a temporary salvation.

Morphing Colors

“Green light in the sky,” Photograph by Calypso

By Zenyatta

Why does the sky Have a queer green tinge?

I wonder why As my sleeve I singe.

I sit by a fire And gaze up to see That as it climbs higher, The sky turns to green.

'Tis not the bright Northern Lights: The green does not glow.

It stains the dark silent night As the world sleeps below.

So no one will watch The sky while it's green.

It is for the best, This is better not seen.

“Safe and Sound,” Illustration by Maia

13

To the Boy I Didn’t Know

By Rabid Fairy

Trying not to let the hole of your absence swallow them up

To the boy I didn’t know You didn’t deserve what she did Death at the hands of intoxication Whether it was quick or slow Painless or painful You didn’t deserve to die so young

To the girl who drove drunk You’re hated by people who don’t know you The guilt will haunt you like his ghost You’ll probably end up serving time for your crime Something that could have so easily been avoided Everyone who knows you will look at you differently Like you tore off a mask and revealed an ugly face

To the girl who drove drunk You didn’t have to make that decision A killer because of poor choices You could have decided To not drive under the influence You took away his life and ruined yours

To all the victims of drunk driving It’s not your fault It will never be your fault You had years ahead of you A life to live And now everyone wonders who you’d be today

To the boy I didn’t know A whole life ahead of you Snuffed out like the light of a candle Your friends broken like a cracked window Hit by the bullet of a love now lost Your family holding onto your memory for dear life

To all those who decide to drive drunk I won’t put it lightly It is your fault You can so easily destroy countless lives Because of your one poor decision You’ll look back and regret it for the rest of time

A Letter to Perseus

By Bravery The day you entered my world, I was enchanted. Not the damsel in distress enchanted, but somewhere along the lines of that, yes. You killed a MINOTAUR, for Zeus’ sake. With its OWN horn. It was crazy, and you were only 12 at that time. I remember our first quest, and how badly I’d been waiting to go on one ever since I came upon Camp Half Blood. Gods, I wish I could go back. Everything was slightly better than it is today.

I remember when Tyson came into the picture, and I remember how wary and suspicious I was around him. I don’t see him much anymore. I wish I did. Then at least I could talk to someone instead of writing down my feelings. Weird, right? “What feelings, Wise Girl?” Don’t you even doubt for a second that those words didn’t cross your mind just now! Pfft.

It’s just, I don’t know how to explain. My dad’s throwing himself into his work again, I’m back at Camp Half Blood, and history seems to be repeating itself, but this time…

I’m tired. I honestly feel like if I’d never been a half-blood, life would’ve been so SO easier. I wouldn’t have failed my English classes (okay… maybe I would have… even mortals have dyslexia), I would probably be living happily with my family and not be an outcast for once, ONCE, and I wouldn’t have to run every day from some kind of monster that comes back from the depths of Tartarus.

But then again, I wouldn’t have met you.

Which probably would’ve been the greatest thing in the world because then I wouldn’t be crying over this stupid letter I’m writing to you that you’re never going to read because you’re gone. You’re gone and I’m sad and broken and useless and pathetic and EVERY. SINGLE. THING. IS CRASHING AND BURNING AND THE WORLD FEELS LIKE IT’S ENDING BUT IT’S NOT. The Earth keeps spinning, but MY world, my ENTIRE realm is breaking apart because you left. It used to be our world, Percy. What happened? What led to this?

People still have hope that you’re still here, just wandering around somewhere, but I saw everything.

And you know how in those movies where everything goes in slow motion? That’s what it felt like. Time slowed down and Gods, it was horrifying. I’m still trying to remember what went wrong, what other routes we could have taken to avoid all this pain and sorrow. I keep waking up at night because of these gruesome nightmares and I swear I can hear your voice whispering next to me but when I wake up it’s gone. Everything is gone. Vanquished. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. We risked everything together, we went through the stupid Labyrinth and we held the world on our shoulders and we defeated a Titan together, but one day you just slipped out of my hands and you were gone.

No one is the same. No one. Grover – I don’t even know where he is right now.

He’s safe, probably a bit malnourished because he’s been grieving lately. Tyson – I don’t think anyone has told him the news yet, but if he’s heard about it, he hasn’t contacted me or Grover or anyone within the camp yet. I’ve been trying to get myself out of this place, try and do some activities around the camp, or just go outside the bounds of this prison, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I haven’t been near the ocean in months because I can’t bear to be reminded of you.

I love you, you know that. But I think I loved you too much, and that’s why I’m

“Artemis Controls Wind,” Photograph by Nike

feeling so bad. So maybe after some time, I’ll be able to go to the beach without wanting to cry uncontrollably in front of everyone. And maybe I’ll have a toast to you on our picnic table, Seaweed Brain. And maybe I’ll even eat some blue sandwiches and blue soda. And maybe I’ll bring Grover and Tyson and the rest of Camp Half Blood and we’ll tell stories and let the ocean waves tickle our feet as we remember you. We’ll probably have to put up with some monsters, but I could care less. Okay, I’m feeling better now. No, wait – wait. Wait… okay now I’m feeling a bit better. Gods, you better be waiting for me, Perseus. I’ll see you again one day, and that day will be absolute torture of me whining and complaining and beating you to a pulp for what you’ve done to me.

Sincerely, Annabeth Chase

The Jaunt Through Phonesia

By Dawn I was worried about Polyphemos’ reaction, but my worries washed away For we all spotted land, approaching us closer and closer, as the boat swayed towards the pristine sands of the island.

Our eyes seemed to have deceived us as we took in the sight, And what a sight it was, people everywhere doing strange things, The strangest of which was they were Holding on to small rectangular boxes.

Some held them beside their ears, speaking into them, As if somebody inside could respond to them, While others stared at them with serious faces, Unaware of the happenings around them.

I led my men towards a tidy, stern man.

‘Hello. My shipmates and I would be so very thankful if you could give us some food?’

The man’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly before He answered: ‘Yes, of course sir, surely you all must be I tired?

Why don’t I get you a room?’

He motioned for us to follow him through a door Inside which was a mammoth room, Draped with curtains and embedded with cushioned seats, Our eyes alone were not enough to take in the sight, They were widened with admiration as we continued to follow the man, Who told us his name was Kadenyus.

We were steered into another huge room, but rather, This one had extravagant beds placed on top of the silkiest, softest carpets.

Proper-mannered Kadenyus snapped his fingers and a line of people, Dressed exactly like Kadenyus himself, clean and sharp, Walked into the room holding platters of heaping mounds of food.

Each was for a man, and we devoured the food like we’d never tasted food before.

We did not know, nor did we care what was being consumed by us.

I must have fallen into a blissful sleep, for the next thing I knew, I was waking up, content and happy, the rays of sunlight dancing on my face, fragrances of tropical air wafting toward me.

Kadenyus then walked in and said: ‘The bill for the room and last night’s meal is a hundred dollars. Please pay before you leave.’

As he departed, a feeling of panic swept over me, For I did not understand what he had just said, but I knew it was related to last night’s meal.

Was I in trouble? I began feeling sweat trickle down my temples, like water falling in a waterfall, anticipating a heavy fall.

In every island, I had encountered, something went wrong.

I prayed to the heavens for assistance with all my might, and soon Athena was before me. As soon as I saw her, I said: ‘O, Goddess of War, I have had enough of these dilemmas.

Please help me give this man these ‘hundred dollars’ he requests so I may be on my way to Ithaca.

The brave-hearted goddess replied with laughter Pirouetting in her misty grey eyes: ‘The other side of this island contains a real-life version of the smartphone game Temple Run. You must play this since you will collect money for yourself as you run.’

Though her words made no utter sense to me, I thanked her and hurried to the other side of the island.

I approached a vast maze, With gigantic masses of people lined up by the sidelines.

I watched as men ran very fast through winding paths, While being chased by large black monsters, they had to jump over tree roots and large holes, while sliding under tree branches and barriers of fire.

Because they either forgot to jump, or slide, or their lack of speed, they were gobbled by the creatures chasing them.

All the sorrow escaped me as I watched, Because it looked very easy.

I went next and as soon as they counted to three, I ran. I ran so fast, my leg pain building up, legs going like the spokes of a spinning wheel,

never stopping unless told otherwise, in an infinite loop of spinning that seems to never halt.

Would I succeed? I felt yesterday’s meal weighing me down.

The crowd went silent as they watched me effortlessly jump, slide, turn, and repeat, all while I was running. After a certain point, I realized, as I ran I was collecting small tokens.

The people there called them coins.

After long distances of endless running, I stopped. Everyone cheered madly for me.

A man pulled towards me a bulging sack of the tokens, Large enough for me to stuff Polyphemos into, And I proceeded back to the other side of the island.

Once inside the hotel again, I placed the huge sack

By Kadenyus’s feet.

‘Here you are, Good man. This should be enough for everything.’

Kadenyus’s eyes widened with shock, As he peered inside. ‘Did you get all of this while Playing Temple Run? I nodded. ‘Can this be true?’ he implored curiously.

‘That game is a real-life version of the app!’

I wonderingly looked at him, he did not make sense.

‘The app! It’s what you can play on these smartphones!’

He held up the tiny rectangular device, Which had a small man running very quickly, In a small maze, looking identical to the maze I had just run, only it was on a tiny panel.

Kadenyus continued: ‘It is nearly impossible for Men to do well on the app, much less the real thing!’

I laughed, for the maze running had been Very simple for me. It was my life!

Every other day I had to obstacles like running away from monsters, While these strange people did so with their little boxes I jauntily left the island with my men, So amused with the people living on the island Phonesia.

We next found ourselves in the home of Circe.

“One Last Adventure,” Photograph by Caspian

End of the Line

“Righteousness Surging,” Photograph by Caspian

By A.T. Pacem

1928 the sun’s hotter than he remembered much, much hotter and he feels like he’s suffocating his breath’s terse and he can feel his airway snap shut now he’s wheezing he’s wheezing and all he can see is the sun and its blazing down on his cuts and scrapes and he’s starting to electrify but something forces his head up and there’s something powdery in his mouth then water to wash everything past his closed airway he inhales and swallows at once too quickly, almost, so he starts coughing he inhales one more time andthere’s relief washing down. he sees a smile with a noticeable gap of teeth above his face coupled with the altruistic eyes of his mother “I think he’s going to be alright, miss!” the boyish voice is too loud, too bright and terribly annoying but now he knows who to go to when he can’t breathe 1938 people always said his eyes were pastel not husky and captivating, but innocent. his best friend was his antithesis; polar opposite wouldn’t suffice for the cornflower seduction and brash enchantment that seemed to draw in anyone, everyone who just got a little too close maybe his natural allure just flat out didn’t exist but at the end of each twinkling, gin-tipped night, he still carries (what is now) cornflower exhaustion up the stairs and onto the couch where he shivers, reaching for anything that could be used to warm up “You know it gets cold in Brooklyn, you idiot.”

1940 wartime.

“You know I’m with you till the end of the line, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

1944 he’s dead and there was nothing he didn't do to bring him back “Forgive me.”

2014 you see him and immediately you know that face you know those innocent eyes and shock of blond hair you know those arms that dragged you out of hell more times than you can count he promised you nothing but companionship and a little something called love and you promised him security and safety in the smaller circumference of your arms “I knew him. The man on the bridge, I knew him,” but then there’s something jammed into your mouth, something cold on your arm. then the blaze of a lightning storm through your veins and just like that he’s gone.

My OTP

By The Teumessian Fox The way you look into his eyes, Or maybe watch your true love die.

This gives me the feels.

These, no one can conceal.

My OTP gives me life, A secret door away from strife.

My OTP leaves me for death, I have to hold on to every last breath.

My OTP, my OTP, How I wish it would leave me be, But it’s too late, I am hooked, Maybe the writers will take a look.

Please don’t tell me it is all in my head!

Why don’t these two just get in bed?

They need to be with each other, Can’t you tell they were made for one another?

My OTP makes me excited, And making it canon, I can just see the delight!

My OTP makes me upset, It’s as if they haven’t ever met!

My OTP, my OTP Why do you make me want to scream?!

P.M. (Pt. I)

By A.T. Pacem It’s wintertime in Sokovia. The once marvelous castles that now lay worn overlooked colorfully tiled rooftops. An aging woman rushes over uneven cobbled streets with a basket in hand and a mauve bandana through her still flaming red hair.

“Excuse me, ‘scuse me-” she mutters, pushing past unkempt strangers and sour attitudes. Her cape snaps in the wind as she struggles not to slip on last night’s ice or snow. Baby blue stairs shock her eyesight. She’s up in a matter of seconds, hastily knocking as she twitches in her laced boots. An older gentleman swung the door open, his sable hair a mess as a frustrated cry came from behind.

“Ms. Pushkina, please come i-” “How long has your wife been in labor, Mr. Maximoff?” She sweeps right past him. Her shoes come off

in mere seconds as she walks straight upstairs towards the bedroom. The husband follows. “Erm, two hours at most?” He replies uneasily. Twins were rare where they lived, and only few survived birth or the moments after. Natal deaths weren’t uncommon in their minuscule town, even with the medicinal technology that had supposedly improved.

But every child delivered by midwife Wanda Pushkina survived to perfect health.

“I'm going to need warm water, rags, and your willpower at once, Mr. Maximoff,” She ordered.

“These children are to be delivered at once.”

Six brutal hours passed until Pietro and Wanda Maximoff are brought to the world. And only six weeks later does Wanda Pushkina pass of old age, leaving behind a grateful generation.

P.M. (Pt. II)

W.M. (Pt. I)

you can just to feel the stability of life beneath your feet. You run your hands over hoary sculptures and ruins and crosses; dim hallways Strucker is a kind man who provides and expects nothing in return. meant for the eyes of furtive lovers; and the breathtaking marble statue He takes care of you and makes of Saint Joseph still incredibly inyour studies are better than the tact.

Prince of Sokovia’s. You take immense pride in your arithmetic skills You take one stone hand and pray, eyes squeezed shut as Pietro takes which are (only a little bit) better than your brother’s. He complains. the other outstretched hand. But “At least show me what you did so I you’re convinced the statue is cursed because the next morning they can learn too,” jam you in cages and restrain you.

Strucker works in private, someYou’re so terrified and confused where away in the castle you’ve always gazed at as a child. You love that you start crying, lamenting, begging for Saint Joseph to help your bedroom window now; you you. Strucker stands there, watching can see every nook and cranny of you. He looks indifferent, emotionyour town without having to run. less, like a hunter still dissatisfied You miss running, though. You from the bounty of victims. You miss the exhilaration behind every scream and kick again until you pant and the numbing of your legs can’t move and all you see is a that only shoved you further. You black curtain. miss seeing things in a blur, your Pietro’s hair turns white in a mathair thrashing over your shoulders ter of days. Your eyes turn red. as your mind simply frees itself.

You’re no longer angels destined Strucker doesn’t let you run anyfor heaven but rather the devil’s more. most esteemed children.

He says it’s not “ladylike” or “proper”.

But you and Pietro run as much

By A.T. Pacem

W.M. (Pt. II)

By A.T. Pacem

By A.T. Pacem

people think your sister is just like any other– boring and no fun at all but she’s really the opposite, you struggle to convince everyone you know that, “She’s a girl, she can’t play,” is a miserable excuse to leave Wanda out of games of hopscotch and tag maybe they’re jealous she’s actually better at not stepping on the box with the pebble in it or running faster than the wind beneath her feet she’s bright smiles and a gleeful laughter so contagious laughing is utterly unavoidable

you contemplate why you spent your raging days making the nightmares of strangers appear over and over and over again… when your nightmare was the only one that came true. you just died and you don’t know what meaning your life could potentially bring forth that would satisfy your crying over the boy who once convinced the entire world to play hopscotch with you.

“Skeletal Memories,” Photograph by Aceso

17

The Best Version of well for yourself at your best friend’s dream school and it Yourself would be nice to extend that

By Apollo friendship beyond high school, Every morning, we see the same group of Range Rovers enter the CHS parking lot and the same students emerge, sporting North Face backpacks and Vineyard Vines clothing.

Many CHS parents idolize their children, making them feel flawless and God-like. That was not the case with my parents, and I am incredibly grateful for the way they treated me throughout high school and the lessons that came out of this experience.

Instead, my parents were always confident in my abilities but also realistic with me when they needed to be. They knew that I was a smart student who would ultimately prevail as long as I focused on doing the best I could personally do.

That is one of the biggest flaws with these so-called flawless students. They are always so wrapped up in comparing themselves to others that they lose their sense of personal identity.

As a result of this constant obsession with comparing themselves to others, school merely becomes a competition, which is exactly what it is not meant to be. School is meant to be about learning, shining light on personal strengths and improving personal weaknesses. True, the constant testing atmosphere only reinforces the competitive nature of CHS’ environment, but therein lies another flaw among the flawless: APs. It is difficult to find a hallway without a handful of clearlyoverwhelmed students carrying multiple AP review books every spring at CHS. And for what?

They will not get into college if they do not take seven AP classes? That is ridiculous because there is a college out there for everyone regardless of their academic performance and coursework.

But that goes back to the idea of comparing yourself to others.

The college admissions process, above everything else, is meant to be a journey of selfexploration and finding that college or university that is the right fit for you, not the girl who sits two seats from you in Calculus.

This is why everyone does not need to apply to the same 10 schools. Sure, you might do

had struck a perfect balance between succeeding academically while also maintaining my sanity and a relatively normal sleep schedule.

In terms of extracurriculars, I also realized midway through high school that I was not doing everything for the right reasons.

I had played the saxophone in band since fourth grade and taken private lessons since fifth grade but seldom found any pleasure in practicing or classroom rehearsals. After doing some careful soul-searching, I decided that the only reason I was still in band was to please my parents as another musician in the family, not because I truly enjoyed making jazz and classical music.

After deciding to give band up after freshman year, I considered my career aspirations.

From a young age, I remembered watching The PBS Newshour at dinner with my family and eagerly reading The Washington Post sports section every morning. Because I also loved writing outside of English class, I thought being a journalist might be a possible career option and thus decided to enroll in Journalism 1 at CHS. This ended up being one of the best decisions of my life. I was finally working with a close -knit group of people who shared the same passions that I had. Yes, it was hard at first, but after a while, writing a news story became second nature for me. Plus I enjoyed the more “real-world” style of writing that I was being exposed to in journalism as opposed to the

but what happens when your best friend lands a job straight out of college and you are left in the dust with no sense of who you are.

While it may seem like this whole thing has become an inescapable system, there is a way out, even if that way out requires a little bit of thinking and soul-searching. Focus on what you enjoy learning about the most and where your academic strengths and weaknesses lie when determining which courses to take in school and how much you want to challenge yourself. Figure out where your passions lie and use that to decide your extracurricular schedule. Make sure you are doing extracurriculars because they are how you truly enjoy spending your free time, not merely for a resumé builder.

Beyond that, use your high school academic, social, and extracurricular records in addition to other factors such as size and location when selecting which colleges to apply to. If you are unsure based off of those factors, CHS has a wealth of resources from College/ Career Center and guidance counselors to help you with that.

Even other trusted adults like teachers and parents would probably be more than happy to sit down with you and help brainstorm possible colleges.

In my case, I had to make personal academic sacrifices when signing up for my junior year courses. I was taking four APs (which I would not recommend, by the way) and knew that I would be swamped

By Aradia with SAT/ACT prep. Because I had A life best lived is lived for you struggled through Not all the things they said they'd do Algebra 2 sophoNor all the things they said they'd say more year, I decided If you lived your life another way to take regular PreTo dance and sing and live your song calculus rather than honors because I Is how we all can get along knew math was a weak spot for me and I would not be able to devote ample time to excelling at the honors level.

That ended up paying off for me because while I still worked diligently in school last year, I

To Live

“Justice,” Photograph by Caspian

literary analyses that I did in English.

When it came to the college admissions process, I felt no pressure from my parents to apply to their alma maters, which was another major positive in the way they treated me throughout high school. My mom attended Brown University, whose open curriculum seemed a little too daunting for someone like me who still was not quite sure what they ultimately wanted to do with their life, and my dad went to Williams College, which was too small for me and in too isolated of an area.

I knew that a state school would probably not be a good fit for me either because I did not want something too big and preferred being in or near a city as opposed to a college town. After putting all of these factors together and looking at the big picture, I successfully assembled a list of schools that seemed like a good fit for me.

Now I am certainly not sharing all of my personal experiences to brag about how I was able to be my own person throughout high school and ultimately succeed as a result of it.

Rather, I am using a personal example to prove how it is possible to accomplish a lot in just four years without comparing yourself to others if you simply consider where your true interests lie and ensure that everything you are doing has a meaningful purpose. And that starts with focusing on being the best version of yourself.

Ending

By Janus

ment.

There was another scream, rising in pitch until cut off by a loud BANG. Silence filled the air, and the two children A girl and boy sat on a crumbling curb, eating ice cream cones. Chocolate listened carefully. Nothing. Another soul dripped onto their hands, but they didn’t gone, probably lost to a patrolling imp. seem to notice. Above them, a crimson After a few moments, the boy stood up and walked over to the girl. She was sun was setting, casting the street into darkness. A faint scream echoed through sniffling, and wiped away some tears as he approached. the city, and they both looked up from “It’s okay, sister. We can’t save them their dessert. all,” he said, putting a sticky hand on her The girl got up, wiping crumbs off her shoulder. stained skirt. Licking her lips, she said, “But it’s not fair; they don’t deserve “That was pretty good, brother. We that!”

She turned around and looked at haven’t had ice cream in-“ him sadly.

“Twenty years, about,” the boy said “Nobody does,” he whispered. “But casually, and tossed his wrapper into an we can’t feel sorry for them. There’s a overturned trash can a few feet from them. It landed on top of the pile of rot- reason why they’re here, and we have to ting garbage that spilled onto the pave- guide them.”

He grabbed her hand and they started to walk down the dilapidated road.

“Now we have some more work to do, remember?”

“Right,” she mumbled.

They walked in silence, not stopping to look at the dead city around them anymore. Skyscrapers rose above them, decaying and drab. After a few blocks, they arrived at the metro entrance.

The lights lining the entrance were burnt out, leaving only a dark staircase.

At the metro station was their lost soul.

“I need this to be okay. Maybe we can make things right for this one,” the girl said, squeezing the boy’s hand harder.

“We will,” he said, as they started to descend into darkness.

Beginning

By Janus

When they didn’t answer, she started to walk away in the opposite direction.

I’m done with these strange children, they’re wasting my time. The most important thing is to find Catherine.

“Please listen to us! There are monsters waiting for those who stray from the path!” the girl said, almost in a panicked tone.

The wind whistled and began to pick up, blowing her hair into her face. A shrill sound reverberated through the metro station.

“I just want to find her-“ “Then you must decide which path you will go on. Now!” the children said.

The screech of wheels against rusty rails echoed through the station, and a bright light filled the platform. She turned around, but the children were gone, as if they had never been there.

Two trains on opposite sides of the station came to a stop. Creaky doors opened to reveal grimy dark interiors.

One train was pointed a deep crimson and the other was a midnight black. She froze. Which one? She had to go somewhere, so she might as well pick a train.

After a moment, she dashed into the red train, just as the doors closed. She plopped down into a seat and looked around. There was nobody else in the car. She was alone again.

The train pulled away from the station with a groan. As the platform disappeared from view and the train entered a dark tunnel, her only thoughts were of Catherine.

She found herself on a metro platform, curled into a tight ball. Red hot sirens still rang in her ears, pounding against her eardrums endlessly. As she tried to move, volts of pain shot through her body.

Her screaming stopped as she realized she wasn’t smeared over asphalt. Only cool concrete was under her cheek, and she could hear the faint whistling of wind. She stood up unsteadily, grabbing onto a cold stone pillar for balance.

The platform stretched into the distance, littered with trash. Rotting benches were covered in layers of thick dust.

There were no signs in the station to indicate where she could be. Debris covered the rusty metro tracks, and with each flare of wind, the trash would shake and flutter.

Where’s Catherine? Oh my god, is she hurt! This has to be a dream, she thought, or a sick joke.

She tried to remember what happened before she woke up in the station but it was blurry, she only remembered steaming metal and those infernal sirens, still echoing in her skull. And Catherine, her daughter, screaming.

“Catherine, Catherine, where are you?” She yelled, only getting silence in return.

She plopped herself on the ground, her hands starting to shake. A trickle of sweat ran down her forehead as she tried not to cry.

Suddenly, she heard the patter of feet on the floor. She lifted her head up and said, “Hello, anybody there?”

Two figures peeked out from behind a pillar and started striding over to her. As they got closer she saw that they were just children. She sighed in relief.

One figure was a girl, her poufy pink skirt ruffling in the breeze. Her face was hidden behind a dingy white parka streaked with grime. Next to her was a boy wearing ragged jeans and a muddy black sweatshirt.

“Have you seen my-“, she stopped when she saw what was under their hoods.

The children had luminous silver eyes.

Besides being an impossible color, their stare made her feel like she was being stripped down bit by bit, analyzed in the depth of those otherworldly eyes. They giggled as a tingle of fear ran down her spine.

“Are you lost, stranger?” The girl asked, one pudgy hand clutching a doll by the hair.

“We can help you find the way, miss,” the boy chimed.

A strange feeling radiated from them, like their tiny bodies contained a primeval power, older than the dawn of man.

She shuddered.

“I can find a way out by myself! I just need to find my daughter, Catherine. She has blonde hair, and was wearing a blue jacket,” she said hysterically, voice rising.

“You’ll see her soon.”

“You know where Catherine is?” she asked.

The Lies about Endings

By Rabid Fairy Sometimes I wonder where things go. The scientist with their frantic eyes and nervous fingers tell me that matter can never be created or destroyed. Their fingers scratch tensely against the desks, watching things they haven’t yet proven to exist.

But I wonder about the intangible things. When love is lost to the snares of miscommunication and time, does the girl on her morning jog find it? A bustling cluster of intense emotions kicked to the side of the trail, tangled in the roots of an old oak tree.

The nurse tells me my grandmother is losing her memories. And I wonder where they’ve gone. Are they locked away in the crevices of her mind? Shouting in the darkness with a raspy and cracked voice.

Or do they go to the five year old with the toothy grin, the one who can remember his aunt that he last saw a year ago.

Is anything truly lost? Or does it just move on to the next willing contender?

An endless cycle of losing and finding. Ending and beginning.

A Broken Connection

By Rabid Fairy he speaks to the world in broken sentences his words end …in ellipses short breaths and wistful smiles fill the silence he sees the world in patterns repetitions he sees the world in patterns colors connected …with wires everything links everything else together

20

Supercilious Steps

By Vivian Griselda Each step I took used to be filled with you, Your name was floating above every puffy cloud.

I kept on waiting to hear the serenity of a flute, Or for any sound, That would not make my headache so loud.

I used to think that in years to come, Your hand would eventually learn to fit mine.

Without your faith I would never see the sun, A missing puzzle piece, I thought I needed to make my poems rhyme.

Oh, but my darling, I’ve realized that all I really needed was time.

Time was all I really needed, To realize, That oblivious opposition, Isn’t worth my life.

Strange secrets and luscious lies, Cut solely with a blunt knife.

Now I write my own stories whether you like them or not, With a feather, a pen, or a crayon if I desire.

Why oh why was it this temptation that I fought, This sweet wind is now slowly blowing out the fire.

Each step I take is now filled me, I finally know how nice it is To officially be free.

“End of the Line,” Photograph by Aceso

Obscurity

By Janus The pantheons didn’t fall quickly. The decay began millennia earlier with a slight weakening of godly powers, barely noticeable to the average deity. Maybe a water god sent a drizzle instead of a storm, or a god of destiny looked into the future and found it more indecipherable than usual. But the world kept on spinning, and the immortals fought, loved, and frolicked for several more centuries before they figured out something was wrong.

Deities found they could bleed and even die, once impossible for immortals. The gods panicked, holing themselves up in their temples and blaming each other.

Furthermore, the rise of a new religion, with a single god instead of many, disturbed the pantheons. They watched with dismay as this once small sect spread like wildfire, and in a few more years, spanned hundreds of

miles. The old temples were knocked down to build grand new ones for this pantheon.

More and more of the old followers embraced the new idea of one deity. Other new religions followed. A whole new unfamiliar set of deities came into being, never seen before by any god. With the rise of monotheism, the inter-pantheon battles began.

The gods fought for dominance, for freedom, for control. Religion against religion, god against god. As gods were slain, their pantheons crumbled, until there was nothing left but decaying shrines. Deities turned on each other, ripping each other to shreds rather than work together. The mighty Mesopotamian pantheons sank beneath the sand, their temples abandoned and dusty. Olympus crumbled, its residents falling to their death. The vision of Ragnarok died with the Norse gods. Countless underworlds closed up, the spirits inside cursed to an unknown fate.

The gods began to flee. The goddess of love, Ishtar, took flight as a white owl and

was never seen again. Ra went for one final solar journey before finally being swallowed

by Apophis. The Jade Emperor tried to keep order in his pantheon for as long as possible before assimilation into other cultures. Even the trickster Loki disappeared, though tales of his exploits still remained.

Caravans of lost deities began to travel the earth, looking for followers and worship.

Ragtag bands of gods, vulnerable as mortals, fought for relevance in a rapidly changing world. By this time, only the most isolated pantheons were left. The remaining gods trembled as the threat of colonization hung over them. They were obliterated quickly, and their legends and stories were lost to time.

The battle was finally over. The old gods had lost. The new pantheons asserted their authority, spreading far across the globe.

Today, millions or even billions of humans follow them. But eventually every pantheon will make way for the new, and the newest gods are already rising.

New Beginnings

By Bellum Do things ever end?

Or do new things just begin?

Is saying goodbye Really like saying hello?

Endings are hard but only because

“I Once Saw a Goddess,” Photograph by Nike

The end

By Corvus One day we’ll be no more. People have always died, kingdoms fallen, empires crumbled, civilizations succumbed to their inevitable end. But there were always things to take their place, new generations to fill the gap and push forward as the rock we live on hurdled through space. But one day, the humans will outgrow their use for civilization. Kingdoms and states will fall to ruin as our numbers dwindle, for what is a leader without any followers? The last of us will perish, and silence will fall as the universe bows it head for another species lost to the unforgiving passage of time.

Nature will reclaim what was ours. Wood will weaken, metal will corrode, and structures will collapse upon themselves. An echo of human life will ring as the dust settles. When the last one falls, there will be nothing left. But only if the story revolves around us.

We now we’ll have to start a new beginning The Change Scares Us Things are ok now They’re Fine Swell I’m content The question isn’t Why does this chapter have to end?

It’s: Will I Like The Next One? 21

The End of the World

By Hades When the end of the world began, Hestia was the first to go. One day she was sitting beside the Olympian hearth, as always, and the next she was gone. And with Hestia went the bonds of family and home, and without her tender care, the Olympian flame soon died.

The eldest child of Cronus had always been the first to be swallowed by the darkness.

At first, they all believed that she had simply left for a journey, decided on a whim. But deep down, they knew they were wrong. Hestia was not capricious. She was not spontaneous. She never journeyed from her home for long, and when after several weeks of waiting for her return--during which the first signs of disaster touched upon the mortal world--she never came back, they began to realize that the unthinkable was happening.

Hera, who had nearly worried herself to death over her sister, managed to pull herself together. If the world was ending, then she would endure it with grace and courage.

But this newfound resolve sputtered out of existence as quickly as it had arrived when her son Hephaestus was the next to go.

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground And swallows circling with their shimmering sound Mortals had not the time for invention or creation any longer. All they had time for in their short lives was survival. There was no time for beautiful craftsmanship or innovation, and there was no time for the god of such things. And so Ares wandered into his brother’s forge one day, only to find the building about to go up in smoke because the fires had been left unmonitored.

Hephaestus would never be so careless if he could help it.

Now the mortals, too, knew the end was coming. There was no reason to prepare for the future anymore. There was no reason to prepare for next year, even. Farmers abandoned their farms, the crops withered, and Demeter withered with them. Her fellow gods and goddesses had watched anxiously as her body shriveled and her hair grayed unnaturally quickly, and eventually all that was left of her was a single, dying sprout lying on top of her bed.

And frogs in the pool, singing at night And wild plum trees in tremulous white When humans knew the world was ending, their humanity went out the window. Their primal urges

came out. They squeezed as much physical pleasure as they could out of their last desperate days. Aphrodite sobbed as she broke every single one of her mirrors, wept as her perfect skin cracked, and was silent as she shattered completely.

She could not live in a world without love.

As always, the human governments tried to get the last say, even in the face of the end of all things.

Each one tried to one-up the other, and soon all-out war was declared against anybody and everybody.

The government became no more, and civilization with it, and all that was left was anarchy. That and chaos. No matter how hard she tried, Athena could find no reason or logic beneath it all. Very well, then. She would commit the last reasonable, logical act to ever occur.

She left.

Artemis did not want to go. She fought tooth and nail against her fate. She rescued what animals she could from forest fires, from the guns of starving humans, from natural predators, from each other. She protected the children, those whose parents had abandoned them by choice, and those whose parents had been forced to abandon them. She protected young girls from the claws of men who would rob them of their innocence.

It was no use. She could not save them all, and they all fell in the end.

As did she.

Robins will wear their feathery fire Singing their whims on a low fencewire Apollo, the younger twin, had never known a world without his sister. Now she was gone, and he certainly had no desire to know this world, this world without all the things he loved. Music. Poetry. Art. Beauty. Hospitals had been shut down and looted. Only a handful of brave, selfless doctors continued to try saving as many as they could, however futile it was. No one bothered with the truth anymore; everyone lied, lied to their friends, lied to their neighbors, lied to their brothers, their sisters, their fathers, their mothers, their children, themselves.

Not even the sun shone anymore.

There was still disease, and plenty of it, now that most sanitation systems had completely broken down and, like he said there were no more functioning hospitals. But if plague and illness were all Apollo had to live for, then it was not a life worth living.

The last anyone saw of him, he was riding in search of the sun.

Hermes was that anyone. He was the last to see his brother, his friend.

And he had been able to do nothing about it, because even at the end of the world, he still had messages to

“Things Just Started Piling Up,” Photograph by The owlish Bookworm

deliver. What was there to communicate anymore? Germany has fallen? North Korea is unchanged?

The last McDonald’s is located in Mexico? Hermes screamed and shredded all the messages he had left and let the wind carry them away, and he flew up, up, up.

He did not come back down.

The world was in anarchy, so surely Ares was thriving. Every man, woman, and child was a warrior now. Everyone had to fend for themselves. Everyone fought each other, fought threats, fought competitors, fought liabilities. Everybody lived in perpetual war. Surely he was in paradise. But...no.

Ares felt no pride in watching the predators prey on the weak, the defenseless, the helpless. His sort of war was the one where men of skill, strength, and valor fought other men of the like. Not the so-called war where brutes smashed children against walls and strangled women and crushed the elderly.

When he next saw a mob converging on the innocent, he plunged into the fray and never re-emerged.

And not one will know, not one When at last the war is done The world was mad. If someone wasn’t already mad, then he or she would be soon. Who wouldn’t go

mad in a world where they had nothing to eat, nothing to drink, nobody they could trust, nowhere to go…? But in a world where everyone was insane, then really, no one was insane.

Dionysus became no one. But not before making one last toast, with a bitter smile as he choked down sour wine, because all the good stuff was long gone.

Even as humanity self-destructed, the physical terrains of the world, though polluted and corrupted, lingered. The seas crashed against the shores as they always had, and as they always would, until the end of eternity, which was more imminent than one would have thought. But even the ocean had its denizens— fish, coral, crustaceans, whales— that made the sea alive. Poseidon sat on the beach every day and watched as the saltwater grew blacker and blacker, thicker and thicker, filthier and filthier. He did so until he could no longer sense any life in the depths, neither plankton nor sharks.

On that day, he kissed the earth goodbye and walked into the sea, deeper and deeper until the waves crested over his head.

Continued on the next page

The End cont.

Usually, when one thought of Hera and her domain, one thought of marriage. The institution of marriage had been one of the first things to collapse. But Hera was also the guardian of women, and they were half of the world population. Yes, humanity was dying, much more rapidly than it had any right to, but as long as womankind survived, so did she.

Yet she didn’t want to. All of her children were gone. Her sisters were gone. Her brother was gone. The sky was no longer blue, and the winds no longer carried her through the air. In her last days, all she did was lie in her cold bed, staring at the ceiling as her panicking husband shook her shoulders and pleaded with her, ordered her, begged her not to go. It was to no avail. When the last woman at last perished, Hera closed her eyes, and when she felt the wind lifting her, she smiled.

Not one would care, neither bird nor tree If mankind perished utterly Zeus was the King of the Gods.

But if there were no gods, then what was he?

Zeus was the Lord of the Skies.

But could you really call the gray, grim curtain that darkened the Earth a sky?

Zeus was the God of Thunder. But there were no more storms. He no longer had the strength.

He laid his lightning bolt atop his pillow, where it would remain until the end. With a last look at Hera’s side of the bed, he left. He left Olympus. He descended to the Earth. He descended to the Underworld. Hordes of dead souls waited at the edge of the river, all clamoring to be ferried across to the afterlife for however long they could enjoy it. But they all parted way for him, and when he stepped onto Charon’s boat, he was the only one on board besides the ferryman.

Charon spoke not a word to him on their journey across the river, and Zeus was fine with that. He had not come to converse with a boatman. On the other side of the Acheron, his brother--his only brother left --waited for him. His only family.

“Hades,” Zeus said hoarsely once he was on land again.

“Zeus,” his elder brother returned.

“I suppose this is it.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

Zeus was quiet. “Did you think it would end this way?”

Hades hesitated. “No, I...I suppose I never thought it would end at all.

We would all just be here forever and ever and ever and ever, with no end in sight.”

“That would have been kind of boring.”

“True. At least this means that I

won’t have to tolerate you for much longer.”

Zeus laughed, with little humor.

“We were never destined to get along, were we?”

“Never.”

They stood there in companionable silence--rare for them--and watched the river’s waters lap against the banks. Zeus cleared his throat. “Well, I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“Oh?” “I’m not sure what happens after...well, after. I don’t know if we will ever see each other again.

So...goodbye. Brother.” Zeus held out his hand.

Hades didn’t take it. Instead, he grabbed Zeus and embraced him tightly. Zeus returned the hug, and he felt his eyes water.

“Goodbye, brother,” Hades whispered as they pulled away.

Zeus nodded slowly. “I’ve kept you from your wife long enough.

Now I...I go to mine.”

“How will you find her?”

The once-king shrugged. “I don’t know. But I always do.” He returned to the boat, and Charon pushed off once more. Zeus didn’t look back.

Hades turned before Zeus disappeared from his sight and returned to his palace. He detoured to the gardens, surely the only place in the universe that still grew anything.

Persephone sat on the grass there, a pomegranate cracked open on her lap as she listlessly consumed the seeds.

“Who was that?” she murmured as he sat down beside her.

“Zeus.”

“Oh. What for?”

“To say goodbye.”

Persephone plucked another seed out. “That’s nice. I wish I could have said goodbye. To Artemis. To Athena. To Hermes. To...to my mother…” She looked up at him.

“Will we see any of them again?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

“When do you suppose we’ll have to go, too?”

“Well…we don’t have to.”

Persephone’s brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“We are the lord and queen of the dead. As long as there are dead souls to watch over, there is a place for us. The world above us is gone, but the Underworld yet remains.

These souls aren’t going anywhere until we go, and we don’t have to go anywhere if they don’t go.”

“But...we’re the only ones left.

Just us and Charon. Even Thanatos is gone.”

“There are still the dead, but there is no more death. Thanatos’s purpose is ended. And when Charon ferries the last soul onto our side, so

“Festering in Despair,” Illustration by Hecate

will his be.”

Persephone looked around, as if taking in her surroundings for the first time. “We could stay here? Just the two of us?”

“Yes.” He waited.

Persephone bit her lip. “I know we’re both introverts, but...that sounds a bit lonely.”

“Does it?” He waited.

“I think…” Persephone swallowed. “I think we should go, too.

When the last soul crosses, we should go.”

“Why?” He waited.

“They might be waiting for us.”

They. Neither had to clarify who they were. “And what if they aren’t?

What if there is nothing after this?”

“There won’t be.” Persephone laid her hand on top of his. “We’ll have each other. I wouldn’t call that nothing.”

Time no longer existed, so they did not know exactly how long it was before Charon took the last soul across the Acheron. When he did, he bowed to his master and mistress. “It was an honor to serve you, my lord.”

“And it was an honor to serve with you,” Hades responded.

Charon bowed again, and he heaved off from the shore one last

time. He pushed his boat down the river, and they watched him until he and his ferry were consumed by the mist.

Persephone took Hades’s hand.

“Is it time?”

“It is time.”

They walked. They walked through the Fields of Asphodel, taking in the sweet smell of the small white flowers. They walked through the Elysian Fields, enjoying the splendor of the false sun and sky. They crossed over to the Isles of the Blest, watching the blue waves lap against the white beaches.

They stood on the far shore of the farthest isle, looking into the darkness beyond the water. Neither had ever ventured there before, and neither knew what awaited them in the shadows.

But neither feared the shadows.

They dwelt among them. So, hands clasped and fingers interlocked, they stepped onto the surface of the water, and together they journeyed into the dark.

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn Would scarcely know that we were gone

Caspian’s Corner I’ve started almost each of my articles with an apology for the infrequency of my writing, so I might as well continue that trend. Narnian time flows differently, so when submissions are due a month later in your time… You get the picture.

At this point, is there any point in pointing out how I haven’t made many points lately, or is that besides the point? That concludes this month’s edition of pointless alliteration. Let’s get to the reviews.

Thor: The Dark World (2013) Speaking of drop-dead gorgeous princes from disparate realms who are romantically involved with females who both call the Earth their home and are essential to saving their own worlds, which -- wait. Did anyone else notice these similarities? GET ME MY HAMMER, I AM THOR. Anyways, Thor: The Dark World was, if not Marvel’s point of diminishing returns, a sign that the iconic Marvel insignia before a film does not ensure that an enjoyable couple of hours will follow. I wish I could say Loki’s snarky sarcasm saves this film, but, like the movie, it falls short.

Mix already-established, now-stale characters and a lack of any memorable dialogue (Loki aside) and you’re left with a couple shiny battle scenes and an uninspiring sequel.

X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) Just like Wolverine, these movies refuse to die, all due to the devastating power of corporate contract disputes. While Marvel vs. 20th Century Fox vs. Sony is (sadly) not the plotline of Captain America: Civil War, it has become woefully apparent that each successive X-Men chapter is no more than a poorly-veiled part of corporate strategy. Don’t get me wrong: I did thoroughly enjoy the action scenes and the various landscapes. I almost wrote that the film is worth watching on mute. However, once the moviegoer passes his or her state of initial excitement

“I Believe I can Fly,” Photograph by Poseidon

(varies by level comic book expertise and affinity) and stops “oohing” and “aahing” at each new superhero introduced, the movie begins to drag, both pacing-wise and in terms of its entertainment value. This movie is action-packed, but it has no clear villain and has too many mutants on each side for any one of them to feel all that important.

Sometime during the film, a question begins to formulate in his or her mind: if Fox could go back and time and change its past, would it stop the X-Men sequels?

Answer: A $748,121,534 box office haul speaks louder than your disappointment, puny, mutation-lacking homosapien. Get ready for XForce, an untitled Wolverine Film, X-Men: Evolution, Gambit, and X-Men: Apocalypse. Fun fact: only one of those titles is a joke and not currently in production.

“A Little Birdie Told Me,” Photograph by Poseidon

24

Guardians of the Galaxy (2014) Just so I don’t seem to be a downer, I was considering writing a review for the best Marvel movie to date. Instead, do yourself a favor and watch it. If you’ve already seen it, watch it again, and if you don’t want to watch it, then you have no soul.

Well, that effort failed. This is Debbie Downer, signing off.

The Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015) For a franchise that is, in financial terms, too big to fail, so many things could have gone wrong. The sheer amount of superheroes, the challenge of balancing incredible visual effects and battle scenes with pacing, and the need to stay at least somewhat true to the comics (which, to be fair, Iron Man 3 decided was wholly unnecessary) could have easily bogged down the second entry in the flagship Avengers series.

To make a long review short: it didn’t. Age of Ultron is a loved by many and lambasted by a vocal few, and unsurprisingly so. From what little I know of Marvel lore, this film represented the culmination of years of subtle divergence from the comic book canon, finally breaking away into its own universe. And to those who find this disappointing, I can only respond by quoting a meme as a proud member of Generation Y: haters gonna hate.

This movie is every bit and quite possibly more action packed than its predecessor, contains all of the snarky, comedic dialogue that makes Marvel so loveable, and yes, is as epic as a movie which features approximately as many superheroes as the population of New Guinea should be. A hearty congratulations to Joss Whedon, the man who broke the sequel slump epidemic of Hollywood with the same force of Thor’s Hammer striking down box office records (with a little help from his friends, of course).

A Different Story

By Aradia "Beware the Jabberwock, my son!"

The son heard father say Yet she is no son And she is the one To him her debts repay Both their stories they are subject To nonsensical whim They know not why They each do cry The other's inherent sin What one be liv'd, the other cannot One be reason, the other time For each be slain But once again They rise again to rhyme Her blonde hair streams about her face Its form ne'er silent be To each their own Feelings and bones What to them each is free?

Since yet they fall and rise once more So rages on their frozen storm

Muffled and Bound

By Aradia Have you ever loved and lost?

The people may come and go And the years may be long and gone But my chest pounds With sound and color Even though you speak no more I waited for you Your hands were just right for mine I wonder where they've gone?

How long has it Been since I rested my head against Your chest and listened To your heartbeat The stars are sighing The children are crying The sun is boiling The people are toiling The earth is resting Your heart is testing The river is waiting The fisher is baiting

“Utopiosphere,� Illustration by Alice Fraser

Battered

By Aradia My blood runs hot in my veins, screaming I am ready to fight the unseen, unheard of Though his body be lost to the person Pulling his strings and taking him away My hands shake, but I cannot escape myself My skirt billows around me as power stirs And I take my staff in hand His head lolls lazily onto his shoulder Until a jerked string brings him up again

And his sword-wielding hand is raised To stab through my own body To bleed me to the bone To die on the sword of the crying child "I'm sorry."

What for?

This is who we are Our destinies stretch in front of us, Like lines in the desert sand Yet both we lonely souls Are forever lost at sea

War

By Luna Moon Sparkles The war is stronger than before.

My opponents more qualified and ready to throw me down.

I'd be lying to you if I said I'm not scared.

But lace my up anyway lady.

Don't let mom and Tippu watch when I'm in the ring.

It's gonna get ugly.

But it's all for the greater good.

Wait what's the good?

Your memory is all I keep Though you be 6 feet deep 25

Falling Dust

By Chronos

Above, clouds the color of smoke drift aimlessly and seethe in a canopy which sunlight can scarcely pierce; to the west, silvery beaches give way to a floor of glass, which runs into an ambiguous gloom. The outpost is thrust between two oppressively low skies and two embankments of cloud, bound together in a thick artificial night. But the men hug their rosaries and thank god it was not real, inky night.

It’s during the night that the Hanovi move.

They would perch silently on high rocks overlooking broad scrub fields which were easily swept clean of twenty men in ten seconds.

They were born of the mountains.

Gabriel pointed to the rocky peaks.

They’re up there somewhere, he would say, squinting.

We would search houses.

“B.S. We know the guns are here—just tell us where and there’s food, water, and medicine for the kids. Ma’am I recommend that you them up and before somebody gets hurt—not after,” a livid specialist would yell. Heads would twist to the translator, calm and detached, who in a monotone voice would repeat the specialist’s proposition.

She shook her head no.

“No, no we don’t have any weapons here. Not even a husband…

Machu was killed in the fighting months ago.”

The specialist would then shrink back to his seat. We couldn’t prove anything, and her story was plausible because a man carried an 8.2 pound .262 CETME assault rifle and twenty ounces of fire-able gauss. On the way back to base, usually, a man carried a rifle and 15 ounces of gauss rounds.

We would take fire every day.

My legs dangle out the side of VTOL; I feel the jarring rumble of a four engine rotor through my body, and acrid oil fumes burning down my throat on a cold, clear, sunny day. I ponder how it could be that in twenty five square miles of green, rocky sprawl, spattered with wattle houses and bisected by a white pebble riverbed, there exist enough men who hated Malistan, such that every day there is at least one man echoing gunfire through the valley and begging a heathen god, that he may “please, please, kill Malistanians today.” I wonder what my predecessors did wrong.

We descend. The VTOL is shaped like a black egg. It has a plastic bubble front where the pilot clutches a joystick and side skids where four men swing their legs. A thin tail juts out from the egg’s back and on the top is a rotor with six prongs, completely and silently spun by four engines at speeds that we couldn’t comprehend which

would shamelessly mutilate fingers of the foolhardy and curious. We call it the black egg of death.

Our VTOL descends. There is a lurch as it hits the ground, rebounds upwards on the skids, grinds on rock, and jerks to a stop.

I stand up and throw my limp sack of possessions onto the dirt.

However, I am quickly reduced to a hunch under the force of the rotor blades. The torrent slows to a pleasant gale. As the dust settles, I could see them. Hair disheveled, a few eyebrows missing, faces burned with powder, uniforms caked in red dust, tattered holes in the once proud cloth, and haphazard flip flops strapped on a few feet.

They are confounded by my arrival. They are young, each of them looking somewhere eighteen to twenty. They stare at me curiously, their arms folded tightly. Foreheads are crinkled in confusion.

A man in acute need of either a sharper razor or cleaner mirror parts their ranks. The boys step sluggishly to the side. The man’s gaze falls to my feet and sifts through the dust about my boots.

Slowly, his desolate survey rises straining, sliding over me. His gaze listlessly drifts upwards and suddenly swings to stare directly at me.

I’m startled. Our eyes collide for an instant and his gaze deflects to the side like a parried thrust. He looks at me hard; he looks tense as if ready to be hit. He ignores the three men who also arrived with me.

“Are you here to replace Vives?”

“Yes, yes I am,” I say and gesture sweepingly towards the VTOL, “Lima sent new clothes.” The boys stir, but do not make any move for the VTOL. The man begins to turn around, but before he can address them, a boy breaks away from the group, then his friend in tow and two more on their heels.

“It’s good to have you here,” he says stony faced and turning back

to face me. “Santiago can show you to your new quarters.” One of the boys now struggling with a crate of clothes nods.

Santiago pokes me from behind.

“Follow me,” Santiago whispers, and we form an awkward procession with five boys carrying the crates and me trailing behind. After a few paces, they let go and the crates simultaneously collapse to the ground. I realize they are looking at me again.

“Santiago?” I call hopefully. I pivot towards the crates. At that moment I hear a terrible, familiar crack and the sound of rock breaking, splintering like rotten wood.

Santiago’s legs buckle, and he collapses to the ground. In the same instant, the other boys topple like statues in an earthquake.

“HIT THE DECK.” I dive to the ground as he’s still screaming. I fall so hard it knocks the air out of me, and I start choking on the purple smoke now billowing around me.

There’s a furious hissing and aluminum skipping along the ground.

I’m pressed to the earth, trying desperately to stay low, shaking and drinking in sputtering, ragged breaths. I’m whispering the prayer to Saint Augusto, unsure if the words poured from my lips or only ricocheted through my frantic mind. I swear fifty Rosaries if he lets me live. I strike something behind me that yelps.

I knock into a sheer wall on my right and rise. Crouching, I stagger into a low stone building. There’s a boy peering through a long, narrow slit in the window, clasping a pair of binoculars.

“I don’t see him!” He throws himself down after snatching a quick glance.

The binoculars launch through the air. I sidestep and clumsily grasp them. The boy finishes his toss with a flourish.

“Get over here.” I stand dumbly

with the binoculars. In Nazca I saw a man’s head explode when he dared look for the Hanovi; if you weren’t quick, they splattered your head on the pale brick walls. The Hanovi terrified me more than anything in the world, but failing a friend was somehow worse. I’m a coward at heart. I could tear for the VTOL, never looking back, and feel only relief. But, I could never talk to my fellows again—they would shut me out and I would feel only remorse. Failure frightened me more than death, so I stand up and take a peek.

“Nothing,” I say. The enemy could be anywhere and nobody sees him. There’s nothing but swaths of homogenous forest. There’s only one way we’ll see him in there, and it likely involves someone dying. A sniper never fires more than two shots but rarely misses.

We lie there, leaning against the walls, both panting, basking in the assurance of safety. The entire outpost is silent. A shot rings out nowhere close. Both me and the boy in the bunker flinch.

“234 Degrees west!” a voice yells from somewhere. I throw my legs up, stand with the abrupt rush of a coiled spring. Someone spotted him. The entire base pivots towards the man with a wicked excitement in heart. It’s shamelessly satisfying, knowing we have him. The enemy is a smear of green, a vague outline in the bushes that tried to kill us. I see him too, now.

There comes a sound I can only compare to a hundred kids running sticks over a corrugated tin roof. I raise my rifle, hear my heart thud further more rapidly and my sharp intake of breath. I aim. A shot rings out, and this time I feel its force through my body.

“Away From Here,” Photograph by Aceso

Amusement parks are just so fun

By Hecate Sizzle, sizzle, crackle and pop!

Hot roasted peanuts, powdered funnel cake Fluffed cotton candy -sugar spun and shaped like kissing clouds plucked blushing from the sky; sweet like the saccharine of doting couples stuck at the hip, one line over, lingering like gaggles of giggling girls clumped loud and cheery, everywhere I turn, indulgent like that mother’s smle at kids tugging impatiently, puppies at the tether and then gone like on a roller coaster, fast and sharp and keening delighted screams, the thrilling rushgone, and ever fleeting...

Except for that cloying aftertaste

“Fruity,” Photograph by Echo

of those endless waits that sweltering heat the incessant knats, of standing still in the roiling sea of people, (people in pairs, in threes, in big gaggled lumps) wavering rootless-groupless With sore feet and crumpled map in hand I say ‘Enough with the head in the clouds of cotton cavities!’

An amusement park is a hundred other things besides brooding to see and do . . .

A magic show, a daring act!

It’s got fried oreos too.

Yes! Something new is always welcome. I’m quite pleased, and so settle down in a shaded corner with a gusty sigh.

I’ve never tried anything like these, Probably cuz I know too many and I’ll end up with thunder thighs, but whatever! It’s greasy but surprisingly good A family of four passes by.

Father, mother, brother, sister, all guffawing over some inside joke The oreo feels dry, and I find it hard to swallow. A frog croaks.

“Burger Bombs,” Illustration by Hecate

27

An Ice-Filled Illusion

By Amanda Farine Living in Alaska meant you could count on a white Christmas. However, Belle and her family were dreaming of a warm vacation and were heading to Hawaii for the holiday. Her large family, three boys before her and three girls after her, made it expensive to travel, but her parents had been saving for a long time, and now they were going to enjoy a tropical getaway.

The night before they were leaving Belle’s stomach was turning. She was excited and a little nervous about the long trip.

She put an extra blanket around her because she was just so cold and climbed into bed.

She tossed back and forth for a while until she fell asleep.

The alarm made its usual loud and annoying buzz and she sat up in bed.

“Time to go!” she yelled out to her siblings. She didn’t hear any arguments, which was unusual, but she quickly got dressed in the outfit she had picked out three days ago.

She wore her red tank top and white shorts.

Sure, she might be a little cold, but she would wear her coat to the airport and then leave it in the car. After that, she wouldn’t need it!

“OK, I’m ready. Hope everyone else is!”

Again, no response, but they were proba-

bly all too busy to pay attention to her. She wanted a good spot in the family van, so she went outside to claim her seat. She saw no van, no family, no luggage. Nothing.

She ran to the back yard and looked around.

At the edge of the lawn, there was a beautiful woman. She was pale and looked like the Snow Queen from Narnia.

“Hello?” Belle called out. The woman turned, and, at first, she was smiling, but then the smile turned to a frown. She pointed at Belle. A cold chill crept up Belle’s legs and stopped her in her tracks. The cold continued its way up into her fingers and her arms. Belle couldn’t move. The cold was reaching her neck and her face. Now, Belle couldn’t speak.

The Snow Queen had disappeared, and Belle was a frozen statue alone at the edge of the woods behind her house. She couldn’t even look behind her to see if anyone was around or to call out for help.

Belle didn’t know how long she remained like that, but the next thing she remembered was a young girl walking by her. Belle did not recognize the girl, and the girl just looked at Belle curiously. The girl looked into Belle’s eyes and used one finger to touch her face. Belle could feel the warmth from the girl’s finger on her forehead, and then it spread to the rest of her face. The warm feeling got stronger and spread into her arms and legs. Belle was no longer a

Summer

By The Teumessian Fox I look up from my paper to the clock, Listening to the slow tick and tock.

5 minutes till we are free, Now four, now three, Just two more All the backpacks raising off the floor.

It is down to just the snail like seconds.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, Six, five, four, three, Everyone ready to get up, ready to flee.

Then finally it’s time, Everyone is quiet, waiting for the chime.

The bell rings, My adrenaline stings.

Summer is finally here And now there is nothing to fear.

Screams fill the endless hall, Pools and vacation in the minds of all.

No more teachers, homework, and stupid tests, All the future holds is fun and rest.

28

“Just Hanging Around,” Photograph by Dawn

frozen statue, but she was very weak and fell to the ground.

“Belle, are you OK?” Belle wondered how the girl knew her name.

“Belle, can you drink something?” Belle felt a chill and worried that she was turning back into a frozen statue. She opened her eyes carefully so they wouldn’t freeze shut.

When she was able to focus, she could see her mother looking down at her.

“I’ve been so worried about you. I was regretting taking you on this trip with the fever you had this morning. We loaded up some medicine, and your father carried you to the car and onto the plane, but you’ve been sleeping the entire flight.” Belle could see how concerned her mother looked.

Belle smiled. “I feel much better. I thought I was frozen solid, but it was just a dream.”

“I thought you were frozen solid too, with the way you’ve been shivering!” her mother informed her.

Belle heard the voice of a girl in the seat in front of her. “Sorry if I woke you. My brother and I saw you sleeping, and he dared me to touch your face and not wake you. I guess I lost that bet.”

“No need to apologize. I should be thanking you. I think you saved my life!” Belle smiled and pulled the airplane blanket up closer to her face. The sun and warm weather of Hawaii was waiting!

Carnival Tail: Eight

By Calypso It wasn’t as though I could have walked well if I’d wanted to, but being told that I couldn’t infuriated me. It had been a week since we’d escaped the harpoon man, but Cispen refused to let me stand. Most of my efforts only resulted in pain shooting up my thigh anyway, but it didn’t make his smug eyebrow raises any easier to bear.

“You know, you could help me up,” I said after another failed attempt at standing. I’d fallen back down after my leg collapsed beneath me, and I’d rolled onto my back, letting my arms rest by my sides.

My wrists relished the damp coolness of the dirt. Cispen had used the knife and a few leaves and twigs to get the iron bracelets off on the first day in the clearing. The skin had been bright red and oozing pale yellow fluid, but anything was better than the burning pain every time my hands or arms made the slightest movement. He’d covered them with leaves he’d found for the first four days, but once scabs appeared, he let me take them off.

“But that would encourage you to keep trying, and all you’re accomplishing by doing that is popping the scab and keeping it from healing properly.

You realize that the more you do it, the more scar tissue you’ll have.”

“I don’t care about scars. I care about being able to walk.”

“Then stop pushing your luck.

You’re more likely to hurt your ankle or your other leg at this point. Just be patient.”

“This is ridiculous,” I muttered, but I didn’t try again for the rest of the day. It was easier for him to chastise me; his arm was almost completely healed, and he was able to gather food for us and bring back water in the flask from the harpoon man’s bag. Cispen had initially objected to bringing me meat, but after the second day I was able to convince him that it would quicken the healing process. His herbal remedies could only do so much, especially considering that half the herbs he needed for them weren’t available to us.

I spent most of my time sleep-

ing and drawing patterns in the dirt. Occasionally one of us would strike up a conversation about our lives before the carnival, but for the most part, we remained silent. He drew up plan after plan to free Aurelia, but he erased each one a few minutes after finishing.

“Do you have any siblings?” he asked on the eleventh day.

The wound had closed, and the scab was beginning to fray on the edges. Cispen had to stop me from picking at it. The constant desire to scratch at it clawed at me, but after the first time I accidentally picked it off and had to wake Cispen in the middle of the night to help close the wound again, I knew better. He was much more a morning creature.

“Nine sisters,” I said, scratching the skin an inch above the scab in an attempt to alleviate the itch.

“Nine?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yes, nine. Two sets of quadruplets—all girls—and me. I’m in the middle.”

“Quadruplets? And two sets?”

“Are you just going to repeat everything I say in question form?” I asked, rolling onto my stomach and propping myself up on my elbows to look at him.

“No, but I never realized that you could have so many children at once. It’s a rarity to have twins for centaurs. Aurelia and I were considered an omen of good fortune when we were born. I believed it, too, until the carnival.”

“Do you have any other siblings?”

“A couple of half-siblings, but no others by our mother. Our father was a herd leader.”

“So?” “So, he had...well, many of our mares wanted him to sire their foals. Are all of your siblings from the same parents?” he said, his cheeks turning red for the first time since I’d met him.

I resisted a smile and said, “Yes, but my father left to find a new pond shortly after the last of us were born. He and most of the others, actually, to look for a larger pond. Some even fancied they’d find a lake—or the ocean.” I bit back a chuckle, but Cispen didn’t seem to find it as humorous. I cleared my throat and continued, “Only a few stayed in the pond, mostly to raise us and some other chil-

dren.”

“Are you close with your siblings?”

“I suppose so. I don’t have much to compare it to. All of the children around my age are close. We have to be. It’s too small a pond for lasting disagreements.” I paused, my eyes travelling to Cispen’s latest drawing. “I guess you and Aurelia are pretty close.”

“Yes.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “That’s why—” “I know.”

“You’ll be able to walk in a few days, I think.”

“I know,” I said, raising one hand to my face and rubbing my mouth, my eyebrows furrowing.

“I know.”

“You don’t have to help. You barely knew her, and I’m sure you want to go home.”

“I want to help. I just...what if we get caught? Then all of this will have been for nothing, and it’ll just go back to being tortured and starved every day in the name of human entertainment.” I nearly spit the last words, and Cispen sighed.

“But she’s still there, and she’s been there every day since we left, being tortured and starved. We should at least try. If we do get caught, we can always try to escape again later.”

“That’s assuming that we’ll get another chance.”

“If we get caught, you have my word that I will do everything to help you escape again.”

“What do you think the chances are that we’ll succeed?”

“Together? We could do it.

You would have to be able to run, though.” *** I had to relearn how to walk first, though, and that proved to be harder than either of us expected. We started that day, although Cispen warned me to be wary of popping the scab too early.

I sat crouched, my feet flat on the ground beneath me and my legs bent in a low squat. My fingertips balanced my weight, and I frowned at the ground as I pushed up. Cispen’s hands moved, hovering above my shoulders to grab me in case I fell. My legs shook beneath me, and I had to grab him to keep myself steady, but I was finally standing.

Taking a deep breath, I let go and took my first step.

“Loosen your knees.” He seemed more worried about me falling than I was, but I obeyed.

He knew more about walking than I ever would, although did his extra set of legs add to that experience or discount it? Shaking the question from my head, I took another step, still wobbling.

Feeling my balance slip, I grabbed his arm, and he grimaced.

“Sorry."

“It’s fine. Hardly hurt. Just reflexive at this point.”

I let go and stumbled forward, spreading my arms to help keep my balance.

By the evening, I was barely able to totter from one tree to another, but it was better than before. Collapsing for the night, I groaned, my leg aching and the wound pulsing.

“Should we keep trying tomorrow?”

I nodded, crossing my arms and using them as a pillow. He trotted over to me and sat, his arms crossing reflexively. He didn’t say anything, so I allowed myself to drift. I almost slipped into sleep, but his voice woke me.

“The carnival will be leaving soon.”

“How soon is soon?”

“It’s rare for them to stay more than three weeks, and they often leave after the second week depending on how the ticket sales are.”

“So we should start heading back? Just in case?”

“Can you ride?”

“Would it matter if I popped the scab at this point?”

“Hopefully not.”

We left the next morning.

Somehow, Cispen remembered the way, or at least he didn't stop to ask if I remembered anything.

Apparently, he knew or was able to guess correctly enough because by sunset, we stood on the forest's edge at the top of a bluff, looking down at the top of striped tents. Workers milled about preparing for opening, and already a crowd was beginning to grow outside the entrance.

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CT cont.

“We'll have to get clothes from one of the people going to the carnival. That, and their money.

Stay and hide until after they close and clean up, and then let me in. I can cover you while you free Aurelia, and then we'll leave.”

“And if something goes wrong?”

“Which part are you worried about?”

“All of it.”

“You'll be fine. We'll just have to find someone with a hat.”

Luckily for us, most of the women wore hats. We moved down to the trees by a bend in the path where some of the people entered the carnival. Most people came in groups or couples, and the few single women passed by too close in proximity to those groups. I chewed my lip, crossing my arms and wishing that my teeth were sharpened.

Drumming my fingertips against my arm, I exhaled through my nose. Cispen nudged my shoulder and pointed to my left.

A slim young woman with a simple off-white dress that buttoned in the back walked down the path. A wide, navy blue sash around her waist matched the ribbon on her straw hat, and she wore white gloves in an attempt to add a touch of class and confidence, although her nervous, jumping eyes gave her away.

I nodded, wrapping the trench coat more tightly around myself before stepping out, exaggerating my limp and offering her a pathetic smile and trying to recall what Cispen had taught me about man-tongue.

“E-excuse me,” I managed, and she paused. “I...I need some...help. M—my brother fell.

Twisted an ankle on the trees.

Just need to get h—him on his feet. Please?”

“I’m sorry, but I really shouldn’t,” she said, biting her lip and crossing her arms.

“Please?” I tried. “It’s...it’s not far, and I need help.”

“If it’s not too far...I suppose I can,” she said, and I smiled.

“Thank you, miss. Thank you,” I said, leading her back into the trees. As soon as we got past the tree line, Cispen grabbed her, covering her mouth and wrapped his arm around her neck, squeezing hard and lifting her off the ground. The woman struggled

“Golden Gaze,” an illustration by Hecate

for a few moments, making barely muffled noises before she went silent and limp.

“Is she dead?”

“Likely. If not, she’s not going to go anywhere without any clothes. And who would believe that a centaur and a mermaid knocked out her out and stole her clothes?” he said, kneeling down and beginning to unbutton her dress. I started working on her shoes and stockings.

By the time we were done, I felt more constricted than a fish caught in a net. I snarled, running my hands down the front of the dress. Cispen wrinkled his nose and fixed my gloves for me before handing me the woman’s purse.

“You did well. Do you remember the rest?”

“Yes. Do you?” I challenged, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Never mind.” I adjusted the dress one last time and started walking. The woman had worn strange shoes with little platforms on the heels. They weren't large, but they were enough to throw off the gait I'd practiced with Cispen. No one gave me a second glance, but I clutched the purse, my knuckles white around the cool metal clasp.

When I reached the entrance, I lowered the brim of the hat. I doubted anyone at the gate would recognize me, but I also

had no idea who'd seen me while I'd slept in the tank. A line had formed outside the gate, and I filed in, keeping my arms tucked in and my head down. Mantongue grated at my ears from every side, and I resisted a shudder at having to use it myself.

“Next!” a man yelled, and someone behind me gave me a small shove. I tottered forward and opened the purse.

“One, please,” I said.

“Ten copper pieces,” he said, holding out his hand palm up. I dug through the purse and pulled out the coins, dropping them in his outstretched hand. He tucked them away behind the counter and motioned for me to walk in.

Nodding my thanks, I lowered the brim of the hat again and moved with the crowd.

The dull hum of man-tongue continued, and with the bright lights from the tents and displays, my head ached, and I nearly crashed into a tent before I made it to the main road of the carnival.

I’d only ever seen the carnival in the daylight, when the only people were dirt- and sweatcovered men and the only sounds were their gruff voices shouting commands or laughter.

At the time, I’d wondered if it was merely customary for humans to yell everything that came out of their mouths, and walking through the carnival that night, I was sure of it. Not only

did they feel the need to overcompensate for their rough tongue by shouting, but they blasted—I could hardly call it music—which only forced them to scream louder.

Weaving through the crowd, I tried to avoid larger groups, but they seemed to be aiming for me as they meandered from stall to stall, looking at various trinkets and attractions.

Cispen had drawn a map for me before we’d left; the carnival consisted of one main road that circled around and another road that cut straight through. The sleeping tents for the men were tucked away in a corner behind the main tent, and the whipping posts were in the center of them.

It was the most likely place to start looking for Aurelia, but it was also possible that Aurelia had been returned to the rest of the centaurs.

Signs pointed in different directions and screamed words in bright colors and large, looping designs, but they were of no help to me. I kept wandering, following the outer circuit until I reached a large pen with a high chain fence that hissed when I stepped too close. Ignoring the threat of an iron burn, I stuck my face close and squinted, hoping to spot Aurelia. She wasn’t there.

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I began to turn away, but as I did, someone bumped into me from behind, pushing my left cheek against the iron chain. I jerked away, my eyes watering as I bit my tongue to hold back a scream. The taste of metal filled my mouth, and I pushed through the crowd, covering my cheek with my hand. My breathing threatened to pop the buttons on the dress, but I couldn’t stop wheezing.

“You get what you deserve, human!” one of the centaurs shouted at me, and I nearly laughed.

I kept walking, trying to find my way to the main tent. Several humans gave me strange looks for holding my hand to my face, but I refused to drop it. A chainshaped burn would draw even more attention.

I reached the main tent without incident. Standing in front of it, I felt my stomach turn and my wrists burn from the memories. I took a deep breath and lowered my hat once more. No one was

“Aurelia’s Prime,” an illustration by Hecate

looking in my direction, so I walked along the side of the tent before slipping behind it, where smaller, undecorated square tents had been pitched in a hurry.

The shadow of the main tent acted as a partial shield from the lights and the booming music of the carnival. I crept through the silence, spotting a sleeping centaur leaning against the post. It was slumped over, the side of its head tilted so that the post would support it. Iron shackles gripped its hands and its ankles, and whip marks, some closed and some open, covered its back and shoulders. I snuck closer. Aurelia.

Resisting the urge to wake her, I walked to the back of the main tent. Apparently a set of keys for the shackles would be in the back room, and Cispen had told me that I had another hour before the show would begin. I lifted the flap a smidge, peeking inside. No one seemed to be there, so I slipped in, looking for the dresser where Cispen said the key would be. Pins pricked

along my back, making me hyperaware of my surroundings.

Despite the silence, I jerked several times in anticipation of someone catching me. No one did. The keys were in the top drawer of the dresser instead of on the surface, and I grabbed them before hurrying out.

I was supposed to hide in one of the supply tents until the carnival closed for the night and the workers went to sleep, but I wasn’t sure which ones where which. I tried several, all of which were filled with sleeping mats and lengths of cloth strung up to create a hanging sleeping mat. When I reached the fourth one, my chest tightened.

“So,” the harpoon man wheezed. “You came back.”

He lay on his back under a thin blanket. In the darkness, he seemed smaller than I remembered.

“Your friend,” he paused to take a shallow, painful breath, “killed me. Or he will in the next few days. Spine’s a mess. So are my lungs. But they just won’t let me die.”

I stepped into the tent, letting the flap close behind me. The only light that came in was through the slit in the opening, and it fell across his face.

“I can’t—I won’t live like this.” He beckoned for me to come closer. I shook my head, and he sighed, but it quickly became a cough. When it finally subsided, he groaned, turning his head to the side to face me.

“Please. I won’t—I can’t hurt you.”

Keeping my arms and legs tense in case I needed to run or defend myself, I inched closer and crouched so that he could see my face.

“Please,” he said, meeting my eyes, “end this. Kill me.”

The word “gladly” nearly jumped from my lips, but I paused. Did he deserve the peace?

Seeing the hesitance in my eyes, he pleaded, “There’s nothing left for me. I can’t work. I can’t even stand. I treated you kindly while you were here.

Please.”

Biting my lip, I leaned in, placing my hand against his throat. I could feel him breathing, and I wrapped my hand around his neck.

“I would’ve made a queen out

of you,” he whispered. “Now I’ve made a killer.”

Squeezing until I heard a snap, I snarled, baring my teeth. “I would have been a killer anyway.”

I found the supply tent a few minutes later. Hunkering down behind a stack of crates, I tucked in my knees and clutched the keys. The heat of the iron wasn’t unbearable with the gloves on, but I had to set them down every few minutes when they got too hot. While I held them, I ran my fingers over the edges and handles of each one, remembering what Cispen had said about the designs.

The one with the circular end was for the ankle shackles. The one with the straight end was for the wrists. One of them was a copy of the key that opened the gate, but Cispen had never seen it used. There were four other keys on the key ring, and I’d have to try each one and hope that I got lucky before one of the workers discovered me.

The carnival seemed to go on forever. If not forever, then long enough for my legs to grow numb. I stood and stretched several times and had to resist the temptation of walking around.

Part of me wanted to look inside each crate, just to alleviate some of the boredom, but I needed something to pry them open, and that would make too much noise.

Finally, the music turned off.

An echo of it lingered, though, as if the air wasn’t ready to let it go. The workers began moving through the tented area after that, and I pulled my knees closer to my chest, hoping that no one would check the supply tent before they went to bed. Luckily for me, no one did, and about an hour after the last sound had died down, I snuck out of the tent.

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Cispen was standing on the other side of the fence, and he motioned for me to unlock the gate. Wishing I could talk to him directly, I shook my head. Leaving the gate open too long only increased our chances of getting caught, and centaurs weren’t the stealthiest of creatures. One would be difficult to sneak out, but two would make it exponentially harder. Cispen motioned at me, his face red and his movements sharp, but I ignored him and continued on to the whipping post.

Aurelia was still sleeping, so I placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a small shake. Her eyes flew open and widened when they saw me. I put my finger to my lips and held up the keys, and she nodded. I unshackled her and motioned for her to follow me. She did, staying as quiet as she could as we walked around the main tent and down the road to the entrance.

Cispen was waiting for us, and his face lit up when he saw Aurelia. She smiled, too, and while they rejoiced in their reunion, I began trying keys. The first one didn’t work, but as I tried the second, a shout rang out from the workers’ tents. Aurelia’s eyes widened, and I hurried up, trying the second and the third.

But when I tried to remove the third, it caught inside the lock, and I fought to pull it out.

“Hurry up,” Cispen urged.

“You don’t think I’m trying to?” I snapped, wrenching the third key out and jamming the fourth one in. The lock clicked open, and I removed the lock from the gate, letting it fall to the ground as I pushed the gate open. As I did, an arrow nicked my shoulder, and Cispen grabbed me by the waist, hoisting me up and placing me on Aurelia’s back.

“Go,” he said. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“But—” “We don’t have time to argue about this. Go!” he yelled, slapping her back. She started, taking off at a gallop. I clutched her shoulders, trying to ignore how the back of the white dress made me an easy target in the moonlight.

“Which way?” Aurelia asked.

I glanced back. Cispen was fighting the men with his

hooves, but I could see the outlines of several arrows sticking out of his flank. When he knocked the last of that group down, he galloped through the gates, following us.

“To the bluff,” I said, pointing to our right. “Up there.”

She nodded, taking off, and I looked back again. Cispen wasn’t running nearly as fast as I knew he could, and the moonlight illuminated trails of blood matted into his fur. Aurelia looked back and slowed, but Cispen waved her on. She refused, and as he neared, he yelled, “What are you doing? Go!” “I thought you wanted both of us to get out alive. I’m not going to leave you, now.”

His eyebrows knitted together, and his tail flicked. “I’ll be leaving you soon anyway.”

Aurelia took a step back, her mouth opening before she protested, “No, don’t you dare—” “Look at me. There’s no way you could cut all these arrowheads out of me without me bleeding out. There’s already so much…”

“Cispen,” Aurelia started, but he shook his head.

“I’ll distract them. The blood will make me easier to track, and I can lead them away from you.

We’ll go into the forest together and separate, alright? Go to where we were captured. You remember that, right? You remember the way?” he asked, and she nodded, pursing her lips as her eyes watered.

“Of course I remember,” she said, her voice wavering.

He nodded. “Good. If I’m not there by sundown, I...I won’t be coming.”

Shouts rang out behind us, and they began running. Once we were in the forest, Cispen split left, and Aurelia veered right.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t apologize yet,” she said, sniffling. “He’ll come through. He always does.”

She ran for another hour before slowing to a walk. Her breathing was heavy, and she looked around, trailing her fingers across the bark of trees as though she could remember each pattern.

“We’re about three hours away if we keep running,” she said, sweat beading on her brow.

“Only run if you can. Are you sure you can run with all of the

undergrowth?”

“No,” she admitted. “It’ll be a while before we get there. They captured us during a previous tour of this area, but they went to coastal towns that time. The humans were much richer there, and the carnival workers weren’t nearly as cruel. They got half the herd, though. Perhaps they were just pleased with their haul.

What about you, little one?”

“They only captured me. Most of the time they can only catch us if we’re near the surface, and when one of us sounds the alarm for humans, we stay far below. I just wasn’t paying attention that day.”

“And the rest of them are still there?”

“I hope so.”

“The rest of my herd was killed or captured a month after my half was, but it was by...the humans called them auctioneers, I believe. They sold my family to the highest bidders to do with them as they willed.”

“So what will you do, now?

Where will you go?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I can take you back to your pond, if that’s where you wish to go.”

“I don’t even know where it is.”

“Was yours the pond where several of your kind left? To find new waters?” she asked, and I nodded.

Realizing that she couldn’t see me, I said, “Yes.” “I know where it is. I met them. I was only a child at the time, but my father kept records of what they said, and I studied them once I grew older.”

“Did they ever find the ocean?”

“I don’t know. My father was kind enough to host them for a night, but the rest of the herd refused to help them any further.

I’m sorry.”

“No, I understand.”

We fell silent again, and after another half hour of walking, Aurelia said, “I’m going to start running again. Hold on.”

When we stopped again, it was by a small stream. Aurelia knelt by the edge, and I climbed off as she splashed water on her face and drank some from her cupped hands.

“We’re here,” she said once she finished. The sun was peaking over the trees, tinting the sky with gold, red, and pink.

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CT cont.

I leaned against a tree and said, “If you want, I can keep watch while you sleep. You must be exhausted.”

“Thank you,” Aurelia said.

She lay down on her side and rested her head against her arm.

Her breathing slowed and steadied, and in minutes, she was asleep.

While she slept, I unbuttoned the dress and took it off, rolling it up and setting it between the tree and my lower back. I settled against it, taking in the glen and trying to imagine Cispen and Aurelia with their family, happy and relaxed as they lounged by the water. There were no scars or whip wounds, no oozing scabs or open sores. My eyes focused on Aurelia, and my imaginings ceased. She’d lost too much for me to take it away by reimagining the horrors that she’d faced.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, chasing away the tinges of pink that lingered on the undersides of the clouds. Aurelia likely knew how long merfolk slept on average, but I had no idea how long centaurs were meant to sleep. Checking her pulse to make sure that she was still with me, I returned to my seat, keep“In Another Life,” Illustration by Hecate

ing my ears sharp for any signs of Cispen’s approach.

When Aurelia finally woke, the sun was almost at the center of the sky. There was no sign of Cispen, but Aurelia refused to talk about it. Still, as the sun began its descent, she began to look worried.

“Aurelia, he might not…”

“He’s coming.”

Only when the last ray of sunlight left the sky did Aurelia say, “I guess...I guess he’s not.”

Her eyebrows knit together, and she covered her mouth as tears fell from her eyes. A small sob escaped her mouth, and her shoulders shook. She sat, leaning against a tree as she wiped her eyes and sniffled, her breathing shaky.

“Aurelia, I’m so sorry,” I said, feeling as though a stone was sinking in my chest.

“They said I would feel it.

They said I would know when he died.” She shook her head as another wave of tears flowed down her cheeks. Her voice cracking, she said, “I didn’t. My brother...my twin...I didn’t even know.”

“Then he might not be,” I tried, but she shook her head again.

“How could he not be? Those men, and his injuries. I’ve seen ones like them before, and they killed the strongest of us in a matter of minutes.” She began to gasp before it broke down into another sob. “But of course, Cispen...he always thought he was invincible.”

“I...is there anything I can do?”

She shook her head and closed her eyes. “Thank you, but no.

Just...just give me a few minutes.”

I nodded and stood, leaving the clearing. I heard her stand and the water from the stream splash, and several minutes later, she emerged from the clearing. I looked behind her to see a small pile of stones in a ring by the stream. A small flame flickered inside, and she said, “If we were home, we would have burned him in a funeral pyre to send him back to the spirits. This is the closest he’ll get.”

“Aurelia…”

“Come, little one. If I cannot find my home, we’ll find yours.” *** We reached the pond four days later. The forest around it was silent, devoid of any songs, and harpoon shafts littered the rocks.

Kneeling, I tapped the edge of the shaft with my index finger, recoiling when it hissed against my skin. Iron.

Dark stains covered the rocks in splotches. One I recognized as the familiar blue that ran through my veins, but when I brushed my fingers against another, it stung. Even their blood was poison.

Looking back at Aurelia, I saw the words I knew she didn’t want to say.

I walked to the edge and crouched, peering into the water.

A human reflection stared back, clad in the torn clothes stolen from a farmer we’d passed along the way. Her skin was sickly pale from lack of sunlight, like ivory that had collected dust. Her eyes were dull, closer to bronze than the rich gold she knew they could be. The flecks of blue and green that once sparkled in her eyes had faded. Her fingers went to her face, and I felt the tips of my fingers brush my cheekbone.

“Do not dwell on what you cannot change, little one,” Aurelia said, resting a hand on my shoulder and taking my hand

away from my cheek.

“But I...I can still turn back, right?”

“Transforming back will not recover what you have lost. Poison always leaves a mark.”

“Will they hear me if I sing?”

I asked, knowing the answer. Of course they could, if they were there.

Aurelia didn’t respond, so I sang the first notes of a welcome song. Nothing. Singing louder, I reached out to touch the surface of the water, hoping that one of my sisters would complete the homecoming tradition. But as soon as the water touched my skin, I screamed, jerking back.

My hand stung and throbbed, and when I turned my palm towards me, it was raw.

“What is it?” Aurelia asked, hurrying to my side. She took my hand in hers and said, “Iron burn. But...the whole pond? How could they have poisoned it all?”

“I don’t know. Maybe in a powder?” I asked, but Aurelia could only shrug.

“Maybe.”

“But...does that mean they’re all—” The word caught in my throat, and Aurelia’s eyebrows lowered.

“If they didn’t escape the water to stop the burning...I’m sorry.”

I sat back, staring at my home with an unfamiliar emptiness in my chest. Everything inside me felt hollow, and my lungs refused to take a breath. My throat tight, I said, “Then there are some who are still alive.”

“It’s possible, but we have no idea where they went. And no idea if any of them actually are.”

“But it’s possible,” I said, and she nodded. “Then I’m going to find them and free them. And any others I find along the way.” I looked up at her. “Will you help me?”

Her eyes hardened with the memory of her brother, and she nodded.

“Yes.” The end.

Goodbye, Seniors!

Calypso: Kim Rooney Echo: Esther Li Hecate: Marisa Lu Bravery: Bahareh Farahifar Caspian: Daniel Miyares Aries: Alissa Li Angiosperm: Janet Sun Japanda3: Bridget Tan Zenyatta: Yaroslava Kuzina Rhadamanthus/Poseidon: Pablo Roa Luna Moon Sparkles: Emily Thomas Logic1605: Brooklyn Goldblatt Apollo: Gil Jacobson Stevia Plath: Hanna Jia Astraea

Carpe Noctem