November 2013 by The Nerdwriter

November 2013

Midnight Writers

Table of Contents Cover: “Legacy,” a photograph by Suzy-chan This Page: “European Sunset,” a photograph by Suzy-chan Page 3: Ask Aphro & Dite

“Touch the Sky,” a photograph by Suzy-chan “Flickering Lights,” a poem by Echo “The World As We Once Knew It,” a poem by Glittercheese “Small World,” a photograph by Suzy-chan

Page 12:

“I‟m Never Leaving You,” an illustration by Calypso  Turkeys United seeks help promoting peaceful protesting “My Doctor,” a poem by Bandersnatch  District 13 in need of holiday cheer

Calypso‟s Island: 

“My Dearest Doctor,” an illustration by Calypso Calypso reviews holiday plans and questions thankfulness “My Rose,” a poem by Bandersnatch

Echo‟s Echo 

Page 13:

Echo reminisces and reveals how she regained her voice

Page 4: “Welcome Home,” a photograph by Artemis “A Warm Welcome,” a poem by Artemis “Change is in the Air,” a photography by Andromeda

Page 5: “Thursday Night,” a photography by Suzy-chan “A Fire‟s Wishes,” a poem by Zenyatta “Imagination,” a photograph by Suzy-chan “Ignite,” a poem by BAD WOLF

Page 6: “District 4: Fishing for Freedom,” a photograph by The Owlish Bookworm “Inspire,” a poem by Gaia

Page 7: “District 5: Power to the People,” a photograph by The Owlish Bookworm “Dance of the Fireflies,” a poem by Hades

Page 8: “Inferno‟s Kitchen: Two: Quest for Sun Chips,” a short story by Janus

Page 9: “Autumn‟s Here,” a poem by The Owlish Bookworm “Fall Away,” a photograph by The Owlish Bookworm “An Ode to Duvets,” a poem by Hades

Page 10: „The Last President,” a short story by Poseidon “Strade di Roma,” a photograph by Suzy-chan

Page 11:

Page 14: “Mermaid in Pink,” an illustration by Raven “Halloween‟s Passed,” an illustration by Mikasa “Same River Twice,” a poem by BAD WOLF

Page 15: “The Ocean‟s Child,” a short story by Calypso

Page 16: “The Ocean‟s Child,” continued “Fleeing,” an illustration by Hecate

midnightwriters.webs.com midnightwriters2014@gmail.com

Ask Aphro & Dite Dear Aphro and Dite, As a member of Turkeys United, I always try to exemplify peaceful protesting against humanity's harsh treatment of turkeys. However, this year the younger turkeys are planning a rebellion against the humans, and it's all very upsetting for us old traditionalists. Do you have any tips on how to make them see sense? Yours, Troubled Turkey Dearest Troubled, It sounds like those youngsters don‟t see the big picture; they don‟t realize you're only doing what‟s best for them. Sadly, there‟s not much to do to make them see sense. Youths these days just aren‟t willing to listen to peace and patience. We just have to keep catching that fire and putting it out. You have to start small-find the one or two younglings who don‟t want to fight. From there, start spreading the message of nonviolence and peaceful protests. But I think I‟m going to help you a bit. I consider myself a peaceful protester, so how about a little extra peace this Thanksgiving? I think some humans may just wake up to find themselves in love with turkeys to the point where killing them would be traumatizing. It‟d only be for a day or so-just long enough for those humans to lose a meal, and those tough turkeys to see that peace is the way to go. Fingers crossed for you! Best of luck, Dite Dear Aphro and Dite, I'm not sure if the Capitol will intercept this, but do you have any tips on how to brighten up a holiday during a lockdown and a food shortage? We here in District 13 have been starving, and spirits are falling fast. Do you have any advice on how to bolster people's spirits and remind them that we still have things to be thankful for? Yours, Distressed in District 13 Dear Distressed, I‟m so sorry-my heart feels for you and your people. But keep those spirits up-be thankful for the family and friends you have. You‟re not alone in this; you have each other. Also, some holiday decorating might bring a new light to the lives of those in District 13. Scraps of metal and paper strung up can add some color and sparkle. Maybe let an extra candle flicker a few minutes a day as a reminder that hearth and home is always there for you. It may be difficult to have a full-out Thanksgiving, but try a community pool. A tiny piece of food from everyone could result in a wonderful meal, if not because of the food, then because of the community company. As we say on Mt. Olympus, for every difficulty, there will be a time of ease. I can feel the winds of change beginning to breeze past my realm, and I have no doubt that they‟ll eventually reach District 13. Keep your spirits up, little one, and you heart warm. Have a happy Thanksgiving. Don‟t worry; it will be a happy one! Best wishes, Dite

Calypso’s Island

Recently, my family has been squabbling over Thanksgiving plans. I normally join my sisters in the Garden of the Hesperides, but this year Hermes invited me to Zeus and Hera‟s Thanksgiving feast. Of course, I want to see my sisters again, but it‟s been ages since I had a chance to talk to Artemis and Athena and Aphrodite and all the other gods and goddesses who will be attending. We constantly talk through Hermes Express mail, but it‟s no substitute for seeing them in person. Unfortunately, things will be tense no matter where I go; family feuds are inevitable in the pantheon. Someone always brings up some petty old argument, and fairly soon lightning bolts are flying, the earth is shaking and the shadow of death is falling over the land. Not that I‟m saying that any gods are particularly prone to fighting during Thanksgiving-those were completely unbiased examples. Nevertheless, on the fourth Thursday of November, deities, nymphs and heroes will be making the trek from their domains or kingdoms up to Mount Olympus to share in the festivities and the giving of thanks. This year more than ever, I‟ll be appreciating the various aspects of my life. Sometimes I feel like we take what we have for granted. I mean, we all have our province/field/ kingdom/realm, but for the first time in a millennia, I‟ve questioned the forces that granted me my beautiful island and Hades his, erm, lovely Underworld. Whenever the question crept out from the recesses of my mind before, the answer was always just Gaia and Uranus and Pontus. But they‟re the creation deities, not the control-every-aspect-of-everylife deities. So where does that leave us? Is it as important to be thankful to a specific form as it is to simply give thanks? Must thanks be directed to someone or something to be meaningful? Or should we appreciate the things that occur in our lives-even the little things that tend to pass us by, even the things we‟d rather forget? It‟s easy to give thanks for the happy memories. It‟s much harder to appreciate the tough choices we make, the times when we fail, and the times when disappointment, exhaustion, and sorrow become overbearing. And yet, they‟re just as vital in shaping who we are and who we can become. So why not give a little thanks? I suppose I‟ll be pondering that point from Mount Olympus this Thanksgiving, but that‟s the beauty of appreciating life; it‟s not limited to one place or time. So go on and give thanks like it‟s Thanksgiving every day because, really, it is.

Echo’s Echo Hey Midnight Writers! Happy Thanksgiving! In honor of Thanksgiving, I‟m featuring the beautiful, fascinating guest that I‟m sure you‟re all grateful for-me! Nowadays, Thanksgiving is one of my favorite times of the year; the food is spectacular, and I have a valid excuse to overindulge in gluttony (because I definitely don‟t do that on a daily basis). The good times with family and friends are always memorable as well. But it used to be a whole other story. I used to hate Thanksgiving. Hit the rewind button and let me take you on a journey back in time. Once upon a time, there was a breathtakingly alluring young nymph named Echo. And because the goddess Hera was so jealous of Echo‟s exquisite beauty, she took away her voice. Just kidding. It wasn‟t really her face that provoked Hera; it was her voice. Echo apparently talked too much. Well, maybe she did, but she‟s getting better now! Moving on, since Echo no longer had her own voice she could only repeat things that other people said. And that‟s where the problems came up. During Thanksgiving dinners where others would spill their funniest, craziest stories, she would long to join in and tell of her own wild adventures. But whenever she opened her mouth, she could only recite the stories that she heard everyone else say, which drove everyone mad. Poor Echo could do nothing better but plaster a smile on her face as she was left out of the laughter and conversations. But then one day Echo passed by Hera who was looking in the mirror and gushing to her reflection, “You look absolutely gorgeous today!” Echo repeated those exact words to Hera, who was flattered and instantly returned her voice. The end. What a lovely story, isn‟t it? I wish you all a very merry Thanksgiving, and just a side note: I‟m free Thanksgiving weekend for all those who want to invite a lively storyteller to spice up your dinner parties. I‟ll see you all there!

Special thanks to Sra. Steele, Calypso, Echo, Hecate, Eros, Glittercheese, and Chronos 3

„Welcome Home,” Photograph by Artemis

A Warm Welcome By Artemis I enter to warm smiles and “Welcome!”s The heat washes over me, erasing my

shivers.

“I missed you mama!”

I walk in, take my shoes off,

My husband comes from the kitchen,

Put my bag down, unwind my scarf.

A spatula in his hands

I blink at the little bundle hugging my leg.

“Dinner‟s almost ready”

„Change is in the Air,” Photograph by Andromeda

A Fire's Wishes By Zenyatta A burning fire flickers in the night, Its hungry tongues of flame snap to and thro. The flames shine lusciously with light, And in the same time cast an eerie glow. The fire does not like to stay at home, It does not like its cozy, stone laid hearth. Instead the fire would rather always roam Across the shadows and the twilit Earth. But it is bound to stay in its stone cave, To cook the food and warm cold children's' hands. Though it would rather leave, its always stays, And never once has fire deserted land. “Thursday Night,” Photograph by Suzy-chan

Ignite By BAD WOLF The darkness reigns Expanding, consuming Everything in its path Driven by hunger It takes form Wherever it can Until there is a spark Short, quick lived But powerful Driving off the Endless night With its heat

Illuminating the darkness Just for a moment The flame ignites 5 “Imagination,” Photograph by Suzy-chan

Inspire By Gaia There once was a child born with a fire One that she knew glowed inside her Unable to be contained It flowed from her fingertips Blazing across everything she touched, Leaving trails of fire in her wake It sparked in her eyes, bright And alive with hope Her lips always ready To breathe her fire And let it share in the beauty Of the world today She let it trail in flames behind her Billowing in smoke and glory The ash rising to the high heavens Her head held high in a fearful grace For she knew who she was And she knew what she wanted She was her own destiny Her gaze burned with a passion That she knew was her own Her fire glowing from within, Great wings of flame and fate And she rose into the stars, Lighting up the night sky And she was unstoppable She was metaphysical, uncontained Nothing left on the earth to stop her Beyond the level of human understanding, She was unbounded, fearless One that many fearfully respected And that‟s just what she wanted to be She was the phoenix, Blazing and streaming across the sky And no one would ever Hold her down Again

“District 4: Fishing for Freedom,” Photograph by The Owlish Bookworm

Dance of the Fireflies By Hades Blue is the sky on this loveliest of nights, Infused with the warm fragrance of mid-June. Hush now, and watch for the dancing gold lights, Wonders destined to be gone all too soon. Beneath a curtain „tween midnight and teal, With diamonds that coruscate and glimmer, Are sun-colored gems much closer to Earth That seem all the more real, For inches before your eyes, they shimmer, And you can almost imagine their mirth. If you lie down on the sweet-smelling grass, How you shall disdain those cold, distant stars When amber fairies over your head pass So close, so near, that we could call them ours. Perhaps one will land atop your finger And grace you with a negligible kiss, Or sigh a halcyon secret in your ear. But they will not linger, Aband‟ning you to only reminisce „Bout that long-gone, estival yesteryear. O, how glorious does that fey light burn! One moment it blinds, but the next „tis gone, Far from sight wherever you spin and turn, As if it never existed, by dawn. Where do they slumber, when night turns to day? Or do they so swift cross the veil of Death? At least you know next eve returns the glow, When they „gain wake to play, So suffer the daylight, and keep your breath, „Til once more do Selene and chariot go. Temptation will cry to capture that fire, So never again must your world grow dark. But believe not your petty need so dire That you must imprison every spark. Those little souls belong not in glass jars, Nor in wooden, Oriental cages. They ought to be free, in Nyx‟s expanse, So they can outshine stars, Bring wonder and awe throughout all ages. So fear not the dark. Let the fireflies dance.

“District 5: Power to the People,” Photograph by The Owlish Bookworm

Inferno’s Kitchen: Two: Quest for Sun Chips By Janus

“Your first challenge involves everyone‟s favorite snack foods, Sun Chips™!” Beelzebub held up a bag of the delicious chips. Ryan could feel his stomach growl. “You have to retrieve as many bags of these tasty morsels from a booby-trapped house, then make it into a delicious-by which I mean horrible-appetizer! You will have twenty minutes to find the chips and forty to prepare your food!” The demon said excitedly, and a portal opened up on the back wall. On the other side was a peaceful house in the middle of a swamp. “You will be monitored by a series of cameras for the enjoyment of the audience and myself.” He continued, a giant screen now hovering over his head. The audience cheered loudly. Beelzebub and Moloch flew to the portal, yelling, “On your mark...Get set…GO!” Digit flew ahead at super speed, leaving the others behind. Momentarily stunned, Ryan and the others ran or flew into the portal. As they left the portal behind, Ryan could feel his shoes squish in the mud. The demons laughed, their wings flapping as they soared ahead of him. However, a gunshot made them scatter. Ryan ran into the trees, already out of breath, and peered at the house. On the porch was an old man holding a gun. “Git, varmints! Git back ta Hell!” He yelled, firing his gun. Paint flew out of the end and hit a tree. “Well at least it‟s just a paintgun,” Ryan thought, before getting splattered with foul yellow paint that smelled like old bananas and Uggs. He squeaked and retreated back into the woods. Ryan could already see contestants sneaking to the backyard, so he followed them, tripping on branches. The backyard was unprotected, and the back door was wide open. Next to it was a bag of Harvest Cheddar Sun Chips™. Chad grabbed them and flew in along with everyone else except for Ryan. “Wait, you guys,” He panted, stuffing himself into the doorway. Inside was the most filthy house Ryan had ever seen. Dirty water lay in pools on the rotting wood floor. It smelled like stale crackers and sewer water. Ryan gagged, and took a deep breath. The others were darting ahead, but Ryan saw the glare of a chips bag inside a box and pulled it out. It was French Onion Sun Chips™ covered with a sheen of slime. He groaned and put it in his sweatshirt pocket. He carefully walked across the floor and looked in another cardboard box. A vine slithered along the wall, and Ryan turned around, narrowly avoided the tendril. He yelped and came face to face with a giant Venus Flytrap. It roared, its giant mouth lunging towards his throat. He ran down the hallway,

forgetting about the floorboards. The Venus Flytrap tried to snap at him, but its vine only extended so far. “Ha ha!” Ryan laughed, and found a huge knife lying on the ground. He quickly sliced off the flytrap‟s stem. The plant made a high-pitched squeal, spraying juice all over Ryan before flopping to the ground. It felt like one of Ryan‟s video games. He half-expected to get some gold coins and level up, but without the rancid smell of meat. “Aw, gross.” He groaned, about to go into the next room. Then he saw what the plant had attached to one of its spines. It was an impaled Original Sun Chips™. He pried it off and went into the next room. He could see Barbie furtively stuffing Sun Chips™ into a bag. Barbie looked up and glared at him. She ran off, leaving a trail of bags. Pumping his plump fist, Ryan found a plastic bag and tossing chips into it, following Barbie. Ryan entered a waterlogged kitchen, where an epic battle for snack foods was taking place. Digit battled with Ebony for Sweet and Spicy Barbecue Sun Chips™, each holding frying pans. Chad was snatching Barbie‟s bag away from her, and she was shrieking like a banshee. The old man suddenly stormed into the kitchen and started yelling, “All I wanted was ta hide ma Sun Chips™ from intruders! Now git, ya -” The floorboards snapped and he fell through the floor. Chaos continued, and Chad picked up Barbie‟s Garden Salsa Sun Chips™. Ryan found a baseball bat on the counter and beaned it at Chad‟s head. Due to Ryan‟s weak upper arm strength, it hit Chad slightly lower than that. The demon squealed and keeled over, squirming on the floor. He handed Barbie her chip bags. She took them reluctantly, wiping her hands on her pants. Just then, a siren blared throughout the house, and a portal opened leading back to the stage. They leaped through it and landed back in Inferno‟s Kitchen. “Welcome back, contestants!" Moloch grunted and said, “Take your place at your kitchen.” Ryan scrambled to a kitchen and set his bag of chips down on the tabletop. Twenty-three bags, probably enough to make a meal of some sort. The giant television screen, displayed a countdown, and the whole audience shouted, “3...2...1!” A buzzer sounded, and Ryan and the contestants ran to the pile of trash and started grabbing piles of garbage to use. By the time Ryan got to the pile, all the truly disgusting things were gone. He groaned and picked through the remains. He picked up what looked like plastic fruit. Suddenly, he had a good idea. He found other solid objects and suspicious liquids, such as a bottle of pink fluid labeled “Happy Happy Kawaii Juice!!!” After finding other inedible monstrosities, Ryan went back to his kitchen and found a sleek blender. Reading “Crush-omatic Over 9000”, he stuffed all the grotesque things he found and put

on the lid. Carefully, Ryan murmured, “Will it blend?” and stuffed everything into it. When he pressed the button, it whirred softly, struggling to grind up the plastic fruit. Ryan glared at the blender and turned the dial from 1 to “Destruction of the Universe”. The blender rattled and banged against the counter and Ryan ducked for cover. A loud BOOM blasted the room, and the front row of the audience was covered with goo. The smell of rotting food and cookie dough sprayed the room. Everyone coughed, and a hobo camping out under the audience‟s bleachers left, muttering about dumb humans. “He, don‟t mind me,” Ryan muttered, scooping up handfuls of goop. As he poured the mixture into a dirty bowl and covered it with chips, an alarm went off and Beelzebub shouted, “Your time is up!” The contestants groaned. Barbie sprinkled something that looked like sparkles, but the plates levitated and flew to the judges table. Ryan felt himself being yanked to face Beelzebub, Moloch, and some vaguely familiar pop star. “Our guest judge is Insipid Sullenmouth, the singer of those songs you hear on the radio that are really annoying but get stuck in your head!” Beelzebub yelled. “Like, whatever.” She said, and put on a thick coating of cupcake pink lipstick. Her hair was platinum blonde, and she looked like every other pop singer Ryan had seen. “You‟re up first, human!” Moloch barked and Beelzebub looked at the “appetizer”. “Congratulations, you have managed to gross me out.” The bugeyed demon said, looking green, if that was possible for a demon to do. “So, explain your… process.” He gulped, and quickly shut his mouth. “I took some stuff and put in a blender, then covered it with a topping of Sun Chips™.” “Is that plastic fruit?” “Let‟s get this over with,” Insipid announced and scooped up sauce with a chip. The moment the chip touched her mouth, her eyes bulged, and she retched. With a quivering hand, she held up a card that said “10.” “Sweet,” Ryan thought, and looked at Beelzebub. The demon quickly ate a chip and grimaced. “What did you put in this, your shattered dreams?” He asked, looking like he was going to hurl. “I put in something called Happy Happy Kawaii Juice, if that helps.” “Aw, that‟s nasty.” Moloch commented. Beelzebub said loudly, “That was awful, which in this case means great. But I don‟t like you, so you get a 7.553.” It was Moloch‟s turn. In one quick motion, Moloch grabbed the bowl and unhinged his jaws. Ryan let out a high-pitched scream as the bowl and the food inside disappeared into the furnace that was Moloch‟s mouth. Giant bursts of flame leaped out of his monstrous maw and he burped a fireball. “He always does that.” Beelzebub said reassuringly as Ryan curled up into a fetal position on the floor.

“Not bad, I‟d give it a-” Moloch began, but his stomach roared before he could continue. He flew out of the room into a bathroom that had popped out of nowhere. A few minutes later, Moloch rushed back into his seat, saying tersely, “9, I give it a 9.” After Cade‟s wildebeest souffle, Ebony‟s pointy objects enchilada, Digit‟s mysterious jello, and Chad‟s raccoon dish, only Barbie was left. The judges stared at her unassuming bowl of soup, gently seasoned with chips. The judges tried the soup and nodded in agreement, giving Barbie a row of “1”‟s. “You were supposed to make it taste bad, remember?” Beelzebub scolded, pulling a lever on the table. Tentacles rose from the mouth in the back of the stage. They grabbed Barbie and she started to scream as she was yanked into the mouth. There was silence for a moment, and suddenly the audience cheered. They rose from their seats, making a standing ovation, clapping their hands wildly. Someone started hooting and banging their feet until everyone was doing it. “This is like a gladiator fight.” Ryan yelled. “You didn‟t guess that by now?” Ebony snapped. “That concludes the first episode of Inferno‟s Kitchen!” Beelzebub shouted, and two hulking security guards escorted Ryan and the other contestants out a door. As Ryan walked along a dimly lit hallway, he thought about what was going to happen, and the most important question of all came to him. “Is there a bathroom somewhere? I really have to go.” He asked the security guard. He glared at him, so Ryan didn‟t ask him again. It was clear to Ryan now that he was going to have to go on a long journey, in the form of diabolical cooking shows, to return to Earth. Just like he would have to go on a long journey to find a toilet. Life was annoying like that. To be continued...

Autumn’s Here By The Owlish Bookworm Didn’t you know? Autumn’s here.

She‟s lovely, isn‟t she? Here to stay, There to go. And that‟s just how Autumn blows. Crunch of leaves,

Trees of fire. Towers of log, Golden spires. Didn’t you know? Autumn’s here.

She‟s a bit affectionate… sorry. Nipping at your eartips, Kissing at your nose, Leaving lipstick prints Gold, orange, yellow, rose. Laughing as she whips her hair, Running through the town,

Twisters of swirling, twirling, Tornadoes of leaves. Dizzying. Didn’t you know? Autumn’s here.

A playful one she is. But she tires quickly, And before you know it‟s time,

Sinking Softly Into The ground. Leaves shriveled, Grass brittle, Trees bare, Look thereAutumn‟s gone. From everywhere.

Slowly Falling Down

An Ode to Duvets By Hades

There is something nostalgic about duvets. Or, to be more specific: Re-covering duvets. You know, when you strip the bed to wash the sheets And you get to the duvet (not a comforter!), So large and heavy and unwieldy, But you manage to unbutton the cover To slip the duvet out. Then you dump the duvet in a heap on your bed While you take the sheets to launder, And they come out so warm and smelling so nice. First you tuck the sheets back in, And then you put the pillows back in their cases. The duvet is the hard part. You have to tuck the corners in the cover, just so, Then shake the partially-covered duvet out So that everything falls in place Before you can button it back up again. It‟s difficult to do by yourself. I‟d much rather do it with someone else. My mother used to ask me to help with the duvet back home And I thought it such a chore. But before that, Before I was big enough to help her, I loved to watch her re-cover the duvet. It looked so fun, shaking it out! But my grip was never strong enough And I always let go when my mother shook, So in the end I could only watch her. Still, I loved it when laundry day came around Because once in a while, When she wasn‟t looking, I would open up the empty duvet cover And scurry inside, hiding, flattening myself, So when she tried to pick it up, She was in for a surprise! But she was never surprised. There was a distinctive kid-shaped lump. She pretended sometimes, though. Now I have to re-cover the duvet by myself And whenever I do, I think about those sunny afternoons Filled with spring-scented softener And laughter as mother and daughter tried to shake a duvet. When I shake it, I half-expect her to be there holding the other end, Even though I know she‟s far, far away. The feeling is kind of sad, But not really. It reminds me of home. Isn‟t that funny? The smallest things, The most menial chores, Can be such a comfort to you. But not comforters. Duvets. Always duvets.

“Fall Away,” Photograph by The Owlish Bookworm

The Last President By Poseidon

Chapter 1 I was shaking hands with the mayor when I first saw him. It was just past sunset; I was on a stage in Times Square, in front of hundreds of people screaming at the top of their lungs, cheering for me. Did I mention I was shaking hands with the mayor of New York City? It was one of the most exciting moments of my life. The booming sound of the crowd and the blinding lights of Times Square made it impossible to hear or see. And yet, one man in the back of the crowd managed to capture my attention. Something about this man made me feel uneasy. He was a tall bald man who seemed to be around my age. He wore an expensive looking black suit over a shiny white shirt and a black tie. On his left hand was a black leather glove, the kind a fancy chauffeur would use. The man looked like an over-dressed butler, and among the boisterous crowd of college students and teenagers, he seemed out of place. This man was as inexpressive as a person can be. He stood incredibly stiff; he wasn‟t moving at all. He wasn't even blinking. He just stood there, looking at nothing. When I realized how loud the crowd had gotten, I forgot about the man and remembered what I was here to do. New York City was a crucial stop on the campaign trail, and I was about to give the most important speech of my life. After the longest 20 minutes of my life, my speech was over, and the crowd erupted. I shook hands with the mayor once more and waved goodbye to the crowd. As I walked off the stage, I looked back at where the strange man had been standing and realized that he was still there, only now he was starring right at me, as emotionless as ever. It occurred to me that maybe this man was a secret service agent. I asked Jim, the agent in charge of my protection detail, if we had any agents in the crowd, but he said no. When I looked back at the crowd, the man was gone. Chapter 2 I don't remember exactly when I decided to run for President, it just kinda happened. It started as a casual conversation at our thanksgiving dinner last year when my wife Sara was complaining about me working too much. "If you're going to be working 20 hours a day anyway, you might as well run for President!" she said. She was joking of course, but the idea was very intriguing. Over the next few weeks I made some phone calls, met with a few important people, and, within a month, I was in a full fledged campaign for the Presidency of the United States. We weren't supposed to make it this far. I was just a second term member of the House of Representatives! One out of 435 others! A nobody in every sense of the word.

Perhaps it was the fact that I was so unknown to the world that helped me rise to the top. From the very beginning our poll numbers were shockingly high and we knew we had a chance to do the impossible. Sometimes I wonder if it was too easy. Everything went our way. It seemed like every time we fell behind, a crazy miracle or tragedy would bring us right back to the top. Candidates suddenly withdrew from the campaign due to "personal" reasons or scandals that came out of nowhere. One candidate who was way ahead of us in the polls died suddenly at his home about two months ago. Nobody really knows what happened- "natural causes" doesn't make much sense for a guy in his late 30s. It was all very strange. For me however, this unfortunate string of events was the best thing that could've happened. Long story short, we won the primaries practically unopposed. A few months later, I proudly accepted my nomination as the Democratic candidate for President. The speech in New York was our last campaign event until the first presidential debate which was coming up in two weeks. After my speech, Sara and I stayed in the city to have dinner. I knew the past year had been hard for Sara, what with all the traveling, the interviews, and the press practically living in our house, but she'd been extremely supportive every step of the way. So that night I wanted to do something we hadn't done in over a year: have a nice, quiet, peaceful dinner together. That night wasn't about the campaign. That night was supposed to be our night, yet I couldn't bring myself to enjoy any of it. From the moment we sat down, I had the strangest feeling that we were being watched. I looked casually around the restaurant but I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. I couldn't help thinking about the man I had seen earlier and the creepy-almost demonic-look on his face. I forced myself to push aside these thoughts and focus on having a nice relaxed dinner with my wife. Besides, I knew I had nothing to worry about. Jim was sitting at the table right behind ours, along with two other agents. If they weren't worried, I wasn't worried. Either way, I was more than glad when we paid the bill and got out of there. It was dark and foggy when we left the restaurant. I was shocked to see that the roads were practically empty. Sure it was after midnight, but when are roads ever empty in New York City? For whatever reason, the city that never sleeps seemed dead. One look out the window made me get that strange feeling again that we were being watched-that something was wrong. As we were driving back to the hotel, Sara was showing me all the pictures she had taken during my speech. I was surprised that she had them all printed out already considering that she had only taken them a few hours ago...

The pictures were fantastic. I hadn't noticed the sheer number of people who were there. Suddenly, I got an idea. I looked carefully at the picture of me shaking hands with the mayor, and there he was. The man in the suit, looking just as creepy as I remembered him. I wanted to show Sara the picture to see if maybe she knew something about this man, but before I could say anything she snatched it out of my hand. "Be careful with this one! It has to go in the book!" Since I started my campaign, my wife has been saving every picture of me shaking hands with someone "important" and she puts them in what she calls the book. After she put the latest picture in the book, she reluctantly let me borrow it, praying that I wouldn't somehow break her masterpiece. I usually don't look at the book, mainly because my wife doesn't trust me touching it, but I realized she must've added at least 200 pictures since the last time I looked at it. As I was skimming through the pages, I couldn't help feeling a sense of pride because of how far I'd come. The changes were obvious just by flipping through all the different pictures. At first the pictures were all with community members, local government leaders, and the occasional celebrity. Now, I take pictures with mayors, governors, and even the President. At first I didn't really like my wife keeping these pictures because honestly, I thought it was just a waste of time and paper. But now, I'm glad she did it. Each picture reminded me of a happy memory, another step in the most exciting and difficult journey of my life. Looking at all the different pictures made me forget about all my worries. It helped take my mind off of the challenges that lay ahead. And most importantly, it made my wife and I feel happy, until it all changed. My heart sunk into my stomach, and the joy I had felt quickly turned to fear. “Strade di Roma,” photograph by Suzy-chan

I didn't notice it the first time I went through the pictures, or even the second time. But when I started looking really closely, I noticed something that sent chills all the way down my body. The man I had seen in Times Square was in every single picture. Each time with the same inexpressive facial expression, each time starring directly at me. There was no way this was a coincidence. I had to tell Jim. Jim was in the front seat, but when I tried to get his attention he ignored me. He was talking into his radio and then to the chauffeur who had a panicked look on his face. Jim looked back, his forehead drenched in a nervous sweat. I looked back to see what he was looking at but all I saw was a black car that was driving right behind us. We were the only cars on the road. I looked closely at the car but I still couldn't figure out what was happening, until I noticed the driver. I couldn't see his face, but I noticed something that almost made my heart stop. The driver was wearing a single leather glove... on his left hand. Suddenly, I knew...We were being followed. To be continued...

Flickering Lights By Echo City lights flicker at twilight An expanse of stars among a night sky The tip of the Tower reaching out to heaven One can only look with affection At the moon beaming its light in the ebony night A fascinating, magnificent sight

“Touch the Sky,” Photograph by Suzy-chan

The World As We Once Knew It By Glittercheese Traveling around the globe so grand We walked through on the plain terrain Hoping to find the one and true end Before the very white sky waned Cracks in the earth spanned As green shrubbery poked out From the once dusty sand While all the creatures went in a dart To the world as we once knew it Could it would it should it Be as all we had hoped To the once very blue land that had Spanned across the green majestic land

“Small World,” photograph by Suzy-chan

“I‟m Never Leaving You,” Illustration by Calypso

My Doctor By Bandersnatch He left me here In this parallel world On the other side Of the cold, empty void He won't come back Gone forever He wanted me safe My Doctor

â&#x20AC;&#x153;My Dearest Doctor,â&#x20AC;? Illustration by Calypso

My Rose By Bandersnatch I left her there In that parallel world On the other side Of the cold, empty void I can't go back Gone forever I'm sorry, I'm so sorry My Rose

Same River Twice

Strange and distant

By BAD WOLF

It no longer recognizes me

I reach out My fingers brush the currents But they‟re different from before This water is unfamiliar

Nor I, it It will never be the same Too much has changed For both of us

“Mermaid in Pink,” Illustration by Raven

Dark Long Night

They chant and skitter From house to house.

By Chronos Behind their gruesome masks, The sun falls

Innocent eyes sparkle

And the blood moon rises.

And lips are stretched wide In gleeful smiles.

Small children Transform into monsters;

Oblivious of Jack the Ripper

Witches, Ghosts, and Goblins

With a Jack o‟ Lantern

Leave their safe havens

Amongst them,

In search of sugary confections.

They return to their shelters After a dark long night.

„Trick or Treat?‟ 14

“Halloween‟s Passed,” Illustration by Mikasa

The Ocean’s Child By Calypso Sylvia watched, horrified, as her brother was dragged down the street by the police. The bright red-gold scales of his tail scraped against the streets, providing a stark contrast against the backdrop of the smogshrouded city. Before anyone could stop her, she grabbed her overcoat and hat and pulled them on. Hurrying through the streets, she pushed past many who had stopped to gawk at the sight of a merperson. “Who woulda thought? A merperson on Baker street?” A man commented to his friend as Sylvia passed. “‟N the boy seemed so normal, too. I suppose he had that manner to him, though. Shoulda known something was wrong about „im.” Resisting the urge to smack the man for his insensitivity, Sylvia forged on until she reached her apartment. She closed the door behind her, securing all three locks as Ash stumbled out of the bedroom. Sleep still heavy on his eyelids, he mumbled, “Sylvie, what‟s going on? We heard the police go by. Where‟s Rowan?” “Rowan…he was caught.” Susan said bluntly. Suddenly, Pearl poked her head out from the bedroom, her face drained of blood. “Caught?” She whispered hoarsely. Sylvia nodded grimly. Almost instinctively, Pearl ran back into the bedroom and began shoving the siblings‟ few possessions into a knapsack. Sylvia took the other emergency knapsack and began filling it with the little food they had in their cupboards. Ash, still in a daze,

asked naïvely, “Where‟s Rowan?”

ing anything up. So they settled into the dark corner of the alleyway behind a rusty dumpster and began their wait.

where, but he continued over to the table without a word. The man sat down in the chair across “He had to go away for a bit, from Rowan‟s, taking out a pen Ash, O.K.?” Sylvia said gently, and clicking it several times betrying to disguise her anxiety. Across the city, Rowan, still in fore scrawling a few words on “We‟re going to go and meet merman form, was dragged into his clipboard. Only then did he him, so you have to go get ready. a small interrogation room and glance up at Rowan and ask Alright?” handcuffed to the table. The poshortly, “Name?” lice didn‟t even attempt to posi“Is he going to go away like tion him in the seat, so he “Rowan.” Mommy and Daddy?” Ash strained his upper body, lifting asked, and Sylvia froze. “Full name.” The man said, himself up off the ground and clearly displeased. “Don‟t you worry about that.” positioning himself over the seat. Pearl said, rescuing Sylvia from He let himself fall into the seat, “Rowan Sutton.” Rowan said answering. “Now, come inside through gritted teeth. He knew slipping slightly before tensing and get ready. We have to go his muscles once more to stay in what awaited him, and he just soon.” wanted it to be over as quickly place. The police watched in amusement before leaving, slam- as possible. “Go where?” Ash asked as Pearl ushered him into the bed- ming and locking the door be“Alright, Rowan. I‟m sure you hind them. room. are aware of your crime, but the The small room was made of a president demands that the “The safe place. Remember charge be read to every criminal, what we told you? If one of us is mirror covering one wall and so here we go. You are found flaking grey paint covering the ever caught, you go to the safe other three. The air was chilled, guilty of masquerading as a huplace.” Pearl said. allowing Rowan to see his breath man in the city of New LondonSylvia checked the cupboards town. The punishment: death by when he exhaled. He waited in one last time before zipping her hanging.” Rowan‟s throat tightthe room for what felt like an knapsack. “Are you ready?” She ened at the thought, but he reeternity before the last of the called, shouldering the knapsack mained speechless. “Do you dewater dried. He felt a painful and scanning the small apartny this offense?” spasm in his lower body as the ment one last time for anything transformation took place, his worth taking. Her mother‟s goldtail splitting into two as the Continued on Next Page en pearl necklace glinted from scales faded into human flesh. the table, and Sylvia rushed to The gills on his neck closed and stuff it in her pocket. She would faded, and his pelvic fins recednever sell it, but she couldn‟t ed. bear to think of it in the hands of As soon as the transformation the police. was complete, the lock clicked “Ready.” Pearl said, coming and a cold looking man walked out of the bedroom, holding on into the room. He wore a grey tightly to Ash‟s hand. business suit with a shiny silver They made their way through tie, but his official façade ended the city, taking alleyways until there. His shirt was rumpled and they reached the safe place, the collar uneven, as though he about three miles from the police had worn those clothes through station. They knew that the po- several sleepless nights. His falice would interrogate Rowan, tigued eyes and pursed lips sugand they couldn‟t risk him givgested that he‟d rather be else15

TOC cont. Before Rowan could answer, the man continued, “Good, then we understand one another.” The man leaned back in his chair, regarding Rowan coolly as he said, “However, there are ways to reduce your punishment. If you… cooperate and tell us what we wish to know, you will find yourself in a much more preferable situation.”

avoid such a terrible fate by telling us the names and whereabouts of other merfolk.” Still, Rowan refused to give the man anything besides a clenched jaw and a dagger-filled glare. Seeing that he wouldn‟t get a rise out of Rowan, he leaned in closer and said, “Don‟t you ever wonder what happened to your parents? Those who cooperate with us receive much more lenient punishments. Don‟t you want to see your mother and father again?”

“What makes you think I‟d tell you anything?” Rowan spat, and “They‟d never tell you anythe man tsked as he flipped thing.” Rowan seethed. The man through the papers on his clipsmiled, having finally succeedboard. ed, and said, “There‟s only one “I understand you have three way to find out.” younger siblings. It would be a pity if anything happened to them.” Rowan clenched his jaw but remained silent. “So your parents were caught five years ago. Tell me how you eluded the police for five years on your own.” Rowan stared past the man‟s left shoulder. The two remained silent for several minutes as a faint buzz of the light bulbs filled the room. Finally, the man leaned in, resting his forearms on the table as he said, “Look, I know the game you‟re trying to play. I‟ve seen it in countless others of your kind. You think you‟re going to be the silent hero, breaking out of prison and saving other merfolk or dying valiantly in the attempt. Well, I can assure you this: you‟re going to die, but it won‟t be as a hero. It will be as the parasitic scum that you are.” A vein bulged in Rowan‟s forehead, but he remained determinedly silent. The man glared at him, but calmly said, “Of course, you could

“My parents didn‟t tell you anything, and neither will I.” Rowan said with conviction, clenching his fists. The man was silent, and Rowan feared that the man would go as far as to torture him, but the man simply stood and replied, “Very well.” He made a final marking on his clipboard, straightened his tie, and stood to leave. “That‟s it?” Rowan asked, frowning, and the man said, “Mr. Sutton, you are the last on my list of fifty interrogations. I could not care less whether or not you tell me anything. However, protocol demands that I at least go through the motions. I

have done exactly that; my job here is complete. The prison guards will be here shortly to take you to your cell. I hope you find it pleasant. If you don‟t, just remember that it‟s a one-night stay.” With that, he left.

To Be Continued...