Will Road 2016 by Will Road

Will Road Issue 1 2016

A journal of Creative Writing from the students of English 270/271, sections DL2 and DLA, Winter Semester, DW2, Spring Semester, and section DY1, Fall Semester Washtenaw Community College, Ann Arbor, Michigan.

Editor S. L. Schultz

Copyright 2016 Washtenaw Community College and the individual authors. Republication rights to the works herein are reverted to the creators of those works. The works herein are chosen for their literary merit and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of Washtenaw Community College, its Board of Trustees, its administration, or its faculty, staff, or students. 3

A note from the editor: As a long time writer of multiple genres, including poetry, short fiction, playwriting, screenwriting, and novel, I dreamed of teaching Creative Writing, at the college level. The chair of the Humanities, Sociology & Behavioral Sciences Department, Carrie Krantz, offered that opportunity to me, here at WCC, and I am extremely grateful. The experience has been more rewarding than I could have ever hoped for. The students in these two classes impressed me with their hard work, creativity, and wisdom. I feel honored to share their work with you. I also want to give a BIG thanks to Tom Zimmerman for mentoring me in the publication process. S. L. Schultz December 2016

Table of Contents S. L. Schultz

In the Pink

Front cover

Carol Brown

Unspoken Words

Rebecca Gordon

M&M

Shahrazad Eshalabe

Tomorrow Is Not Promised

Ray Espinoza-Matos

Cíon Tía

Daniell Shupp

Conspiring of the Sun and Moon

Monica Lewis

14 Months, a Sonnet for Hugo

John Goffe-Stoner

Cella Memorium

Aaron Turner

Go Live Your Dream

Karyssa Witzig

Sisterhood

Abby Keesee

Growing up Garage

Erica Goethel

Love’s Heartbreak

Kelsey Chapman

Astro’s Story

Marissa Sotomajor

A True Hero

Halie Taylor

My Guardian Angel

Christopher Burkhardt Sunday Vibes

Becky Gordon

Stained

S. L. Schultz

Crimson Tide

Laura Stern

Untitled

Victoria Alicea-Price

Sweatpants

Michael Gerard

The Very First Laugh in Human History

Angel Spotting

Microbrewery

Ahmed Oudeif

But We Remained!

Alissa Turner

A Proven Theory

Karen Gilbert

Requesting Advice from an Author

Tara Fraley

Expectations

Steven St. John

Cattails

Robert Hurse

Sassy Ass

Sisters without Misters

Brown Girl Soup

Bridget Dewan

Musical Chairs – Poverty’s Solution

Martino Jones

Adventures of Zack

Kaitlyn Holt

The Gift That Never Gave

Sarah Wylie

Imaginary Friends

Hayleigh Zuk

Untitled

Jennifer Killian

Untitled

Emilee Rasegan

Birthday Beer

Jessica Rentsch

Untitled

Emannuel Kuma

Beasts of No Nation

Megan Johnson

The Insistence of Time

David Johnson

Trapped

Allycia Belcher

JFK

Alexus Sims

Dear Future

Alexis Harp

Creative Writing: A Poem

Alexandra Sarna

The Day Everything Changed

100

Ericka Brooks

The Beauty of You

102

Madisen Stewart

Fear

103

Shaylah Pulley

Short Story: The Accident

104

Julia Laurell

Red Eyes (Graphic Version)

107

Daniell Shupp

Untitled

Back cover

Unspoken Words Carol A. Brown

Our son, who is your son, uses drugs, runs away, and steals. I feel so tired I can barely stand. I am so angry with you and frightened for him. How many times have I sounded the alarm? “There is something wrong here! He has to have accountability! This is not normal!” Only to hear, “Leave him alone, he’s a teenager.” I could kill him when he is here. An eerie peacefulness exists in the house when he is missing. Nothing feels solid or safe. I could throw up fear. I have put the car in drive, intent on surviving this trip. I do everything the rehab asks of me, the court asks, the police, the shrink, the probation officer. I join Ala-non, quit drinking, which only seems to make you crazier with dislike for me. Afraid to talk to you, my fears immobilize me except for following instructions. I want our family to survive. Drowning, I stick my head above water, paddling fiercely. You announce, “I want to build a house.” NO! Not now! Are you fucking crazy? Who builds a house when the kid is on the run and we don’t touch? I think to myself. You sleep on the couch for God’s sakes. I know you. You are doing it again. You are fabricating a means of escape. Is it the ghost? He’s back, isn’t he? Or is he always here just more awake than normal? The son who died of cancer. I have already been through your PhD., and the rehabbing of a house for your office. I wish I had the energy to drink these times away like you do, defying the request from the rehab center we all cease and desist from drinking in a show of support for the addict. I smoke instead. We smoke. We are killing ourselves with cigarettes. I break the rules by saying no to you. I will not build the house. Not now. I have now weighted down the seesaw we are on. You are in the air flailing which means things are only going to get worse. Meanwhile, I still do the grocery shopping and you still manage Sunday dinner. I want to be held, reassured we will survive this. I can’t bring myself to say this aloud. I sense that time has passed. You want me to provide you a way out. I know this to my bones. You say, “I can’t live like this. What are you going to do? When are you going to do it?” You have been saying these things since fall. Finally, I blink. “I will leave on Martin Luther King Day. I will take Zac with me since the school won’t have him back.” “Are you sure?” you ask incredulously. I am hell bent on saving this kid. I am gambling with you and me. I can’t please you although this does something that seems to bring you short term pleasure. We work it out with the counselors, the judge, the probation officer, and rehab clinic. Instead of telling you I still love you, I buy you meaningful Christmas presents, spending precious time I don’t have shopping for gifts that say what I do feel: a 7

graduation Christmas tree ornament, a nude sculpture, a hand carved necklace. Things you love. You get me nothing. Moving day arrives. You kicked me out of our bed weeks ago. You demand my keys. I acquiesce. You have not slept. Nor have I. Everything has been arranged and set in motion. We have divvied up everything. My girlfriends will be at the rental house cleaning and you know my man friends will be here to take the furniture later in the morning. I look at you tearfully; you tell me to go. I walk out the side door trembling and down the sidewalk; you follow me out screaming, “I hate you for this!” I keep walking. Twenty five years later I have rare days I still hear your voice in my head screaming, “I hate you for this!” And, I wish I had turned around rushing you, “What the FUCK do you want from me? Everything I try isn’t good enough, right enough, or even lesbian enough!” Maybe you would have slapped me and I’d slapped you back. Maybe it would have been better to get so out of character, so out of control, the truth would have ripped from our lungs. Maybe then, I wouldn’t have to replay this same sad story on a blue day.

M&M

(a personal essay)

Rebecca Gordon Every time I look at it I want to laugh, and cry, all over again. About a foot tall, atop my bookshelf. A blue plastic M&M, one of those that dispenses chocolate candies if you pull the lever. He's a basketballer, complete with white baby sized shoes with a blue M&M logo on the heel. Standing on his toes, his arms are lifted in the motion of taking a shot. His tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth in concentration, holding a plastic basketball in his hands. I know that twenty years ago, were I to pull that right hand down, a stream of chocolates would have shot at me from the hole in his body. Back when it belonged to my grandfather. At five years old, I didn't understand what death was. What I learned of death started with a late night phone call. I sat with my family as my dad listened to someone on the other end. My mom and sister Abby seemed to know what was happening, quiet tracks of saline running down their faces. Nick, my brother, seemed as if he was fighting the tears. I was a mass of confusion and fear. My dad finished his call and turned towards us, weeping. Legitimate sobbing, with great heaving breaths and snot and big fat tears running down his face. At five, I didn't think my dad had tears in him, especially not tears like that. Fifty+years of smoking and drinking, lead to the heart disease, stroke, emphysema, and finally the massive heart attack that took my grandpa's life in 1996. His first heart attack, happened in 1986, just four years after my dad graduated high school. In 1986, death caused by cardiovascular disease was nearly at it highest, ranging around 490,000 deaths in men per year. By 1996, that number had dropped by 50,000 deaths. But with his history of drinking, and smoking, and all the additional health problems, my grandpa was very lucky to have gotten his other ten years. As a devout Catholic, and a man who made friends everywhere he went, my grandpa's funeral could only be described as a spectacle. The church was packed to bursting. My grandmother would shake a hand, thank them for coming and then dab her eyes with a handkerchief. Shake, thank, dab. I tried to stand placidly next to my mother, but the shoes I wore were new and fancy, and my feet hurt. My dress was stiff and itchy, distracting me. After everyone arrived and was greeted, we took our seats in front and the service began. Thankful to no longer be standing and nodding at this Aunt or Uncle, I either didn't listen to my mom, or like often parents do, she never actually told me about the next part of the service. My sister and brother rose at some invisible cue and my mother nudged me to follow. I knew, even with my limited experience in churches, that walking down the aisle in the middle of a service was a big no-no, but her face brooked no argument. Walking single file, we made our way to our dad and uncle at the rear of the church. My sister, as the oldest, would go first my uncle explained. He went to hand her an ornate gold cross, nearly half her size that probably weighed as much as she did. Rethinking it he handed it instead to Nick, and gave Abby a gilded picture frame, with a wedding photo of my 9

grandparents. They looked like movie stars. They'd walk up and lay their items atop the casket he said. Simple. He turned to me, straight faced, and handed me the M&M. Even at five years old, I knew how absurd I looked. My sister in front with her gilded frame, walking tall and proud. My brother following with the ornate cross, trying to pretend it wasn't heavy. Then me, carrying a blue plastic candy dispensing M&M. I made it barely a few rows down the long aisle, before the reactions around me unleashed my laughter. I giggled, small uncontrollable ones that were impossible to suppress, then big echoing laughs. While I laughed at the ridiculousness, I began to weep. Big echoing laughs morphed into painful sobs, giggles became shuddering breathes, my nose not only began to run, but snot dripped out of it as I hung my head, trying to hide both the tears and laughter. I don't know how I made it all the way to the casket, or even who cleaned me up after the fact. Today, the M&M sits on top of my bookshelf, the one consistent item I display everywhere I live. I haven't put chocolate inside in years, but the lever still works. It's dustier now than it should be, I really need to clean it. Normally I let my eyes graze over him, sliding past without pause. Today I sit and ponder at it as I write this, and finally don't feel the urge to cry. Or laugh.

Tomorrow Is Not Promised Shahrazad Eshalabe

There are so many people we’ve hurt in the past. It’s not a good feeling making others sad. We won’t believe this breath could be our last. We realize we’ve spent most of our lives being mad.

We’d want to fix things, but would it be too late? Not everyone understood us, but they were there anyway. We could have changed our ways, but not our fate. We must all appreciate and take advantage of today.

We think we have tomorrow, But, then our final days have come. We now show our tears of sorrow, And in the end it’s bothersome.

It’s sad to say; tomorrow is not a guarantee. It’s sad to say; life is short; please don’t wait to see.

Cíon Tía

Ray Espinoza-Matos I slid into the cold the seat on the Q train and leaned my head back on the advertisement glass New Yorker's use as a pillow, after a long day of work. My sister grabbed the seat next to me and immediately pulled out her phone. We were on our way home from the 10AM Sunday service at Hillsong, Irving Plaza campus. We hadn't gone to church in about seven months. All week we had been planning to go back; every day we would remind each other saying, "Church on Sunday, right?" We were drilling it into each other's head. We were so grateful we decided to go. The energy in the service felt amazing. There's a sense of peace we feel when we go to church. "Today's Mami's birthday!" my sister said pointing at the date on her phone. "Today's April 10th? That's crazy I didn't notice," I responded looking over at her phone screen. "Yeah how beautiful is that? The day we decide to go back to church is the day Mami was born," she said looking at me in amazement, "Yeah it is." I sat up in my seat. "Yo, that's crazy!" I said turning my body towards my sister. "What?" My sister said confused. "The last time we went to church was right after she died..." I said saddened by my realization. "Maybe we were supposed to go back today; maybe that’s what she wanted," my sister said smiling. "Yeah, maybe you're right," I nodded focusing my attention on the doors opening on the train. Staring at the shoes stepping onto the platform, I started to think of my Aunt Mami. She used to stand at the gate and watch my sister and I, as we sat in front of the house catching up with our cousins. We would all sit around in a circle laughing and telling stories, while Mami poked her head through the gate smiling. That image was stuck in my head. That's one of the only times I ever saw her crack a smile. She loved seeing the family together. I wish we would have visited more often, then maybe I could have more of those memories. "What's your favorite memory of Mami?" I asked my sister. "You want to make me cry?" my sister said laughing. "Nah," I said laughing back, "but for real, what is it?" I put my hands in my pocket awaiting a good story. "Okay, you know how there's always blackouts in the Dominican Republic, right? Well on one of the nights when the lights went out, I was with Mami in her room. We were eating fried chicken and fries in the dark, and she kept giggling because we weren't sharing it with anyone. It was funny. I kept cracking up every time she would giggle. I told her, 'I love this.' She said, 'What?' I said, 'You know, just being with family.' Mami was like, 'yeaaaah...'" my sister said shaking her head. "Damn." That's all I could say. I could see her tearing up a little. The pain still felt like it happened yesterday. 12

If I had to choose one word to describe Mami, it would be, "tough." She would never crack a smile, but she had a lot of love in her heart. We call her Mami because she played a motherly role in all of our lives. She must have changed every one of my cousin's diapers at least once. Mami always took care of everyone. If someone in the neighborhood didn't have anything to eat, she would invite them in and fix them a plate. That's just the type of person she was; maybe a part of it had to do with the fact that we considered her the best cook in the family. I remember she used to serve my sister and I dinner, and she would always ask us, "Do you like it?" Without hesitation we would say yes, it always tasted delicious! She would say, "Aaaah that's what I thought; they don't cook like that back where you guys come from!" We would laugh because we knew we never really ate like that back home. My mother cooked healthy. Mami would tease her all the time like "you need more salt!" Or, "where's the flavor!?" My mother used to yell back "all that salt's no good for you!" Even though they were joking, I wish Mami would have listened to my mother. â&#x20AC;Ś My Aunt Mami passed away on September 16, 2015. The smell of eggs and bacon frying on the grill filled the air as I placed my order at the coffee shop. The line of New Yorkers wrapped around me as I received the message from my sister, Sharan:

My phone buzzed as the messages came swarming in like bees piercing my flesh with the sharp sting of every word. My hands trembled with disbelief clutching my phone, rereading the text, hoping I read it wrong. I felt the walls of the coffee shop closing in on me as the voices of the loyal customers grew faint in the background. My vision became blurry, my body battled between passing out, and holding in my cry. I closed my eyes trying to feel the tiles beneath my boots. "You okay, Ray?" I felt my friend Dardan patting me on the back. I always caught him in the coffee shop; we usually joked around while we placed our order. He kept peeking into my eyes, swaying side to side, trying to read my emotions. "My sister just sent me a text saying my Aunt died," I said rubbing my eye with the palm of my hand. "I'm sorry man," Dardan said looking down at the floor. "Thanks man, it's just-I don't know..." I sucked my teeth and slid my phone in my pocket. "How did she die?" he asked looking me in the eye again. "She was sick; we thought she was going to get better," I said shaking my head. The anger and disappointment wrestled in my chest. "Let me go grab these drinks," I said to Dardan. I couldn't talk about it yet with the pain still fresh on my mind I walked over to the refrigerators to grab the collection of drinks I had on my coffee list. The list had sport waters, seltzer waters, orange juices, iced teas, and even ginger ales. It's a coffee break but some guys treat it like its brunch. From memory, I reached in the center of the fridge trying to find the iced tea. I couldn't even see straight. The room began to spin as I stepped back focusing my eyes on the letters on my notepad. "You alright man?" I heard Dardan ask as he placed his hand on my arm. "Yeah-you think you can grab these drinks for me?" I responded showing him the piece of paper. "I got you kid," Dardan said studying my handwriting. I stumbled towards the table by the coffee makers and waited for my order to be done. Most days I would text and roam the Internet to pass the time. That morning felt like time decided to work against me. I thought of how I prayed for my Aunt the night before. Asking God to make her feel better because I didn't think the family could take that kind of lost. I begged him to let give her some more time so we could at least see her again. Looking at the text message my sister sent me, I felt confused. Why did God do this? Why right now? Why couldn't he let her hold on a little longer? â&#x20AC;Ś Walking into my mother's apartment I saw the trail of suitcases scattered all over the floor. My mother couldn't even look me in the eye. She had her head down, running around packing everything and anything the family might need in the Dominican Republic. Her eyes looked as if she didn't sleep in weeks; they were red and dazed. Her face looked lifeless; she didn't have an expression, just a blank stare. My mother spent

her whole life keeping it together, being strong, and keeping her emotions confined in the walls of her bedroom. I wanted to hold her, but she raised me to be strong too. I cracked the door to my grandmother's room opening up a vault of pain as my eyes met her smile. We didn't tell her yet; we didn't want to break her heart. Her feet were hanging off the bed as she folded her clothes in a pile on her pillow. "How are you, Viola?" I asked. Everyone in our family calls her Viola; it's short for her middle name, Violetta. "Good. Ray, are you coming with us too?" My grandmother asked placing another shirt on the pile. "Yeah, I'm coming too," I responded leaning against the door frame. "Why are we going? Did something happen?" she asked looking at me for an honest answer. "No, it's just time to go," I lied pushing down the knot in my throat. I took a step back and gently closed the door so I wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have to lie to her anymore. I heard my sister's voice whispering from the corner of the living room. She was on the phone with my Aunt Reyna. The conversation seemed serious. My sister had a concerned look on her face; she kept agreeing and nodding her head with everything my aunt said. My mother had completely stopped packing; she just watched from the window, nervously. "What's going on?" I asked. "Reyna thinks we should tell Viola now," my sister said holding the phone to her chest. "For real?" I said dreading the task at hand. "Yeah, Reyna thinks if we tell Viola now she can cope with it a little, rather than letting her find out as soon as she hops off the plane... She could have a heart attack!" my sister explained. "Yeah, she's right," I said looking at my mother. She looked frightened like she didn't want to believe everything was unraveling so fast. I walked Viola to the living room with her hand clutching my arm. She has trouble walking; at eighty years old her legs have been giving up on her. My sister pulled a chair out and we sat her down at the dinner table. Sharan put the phone on speaker and placed it down next to Viola so she could listen. I stood over her hoping I could protect her from the pain that awaited her. "Viola, listen to me," my Aunt Reyna's voice cried through the phone. "What's wrong?" my grandma asked holding the phone and pulling it closer to her ear. "When you get to the Dominican Republic, Mami's not going to be here," Reyna responded. "I know she's in the hospital," my grandma said nodding her head. "No Viola, when you come home Mami's not going to be here," Reyna's voice started cracking over the phone. "What happened to Mami?" Viola cried. "Mami's okay; I just need you to be prepared for that, okay?" my Aunt sounded like every word she said killed her a little more inside. 15

"Did Mami die?" my grandmother cried looking around at us for an answer. "Mami's not here anymore, but she's in a better place now; she's at peace," Reyna said. "Aye Ray, Mami died!" my grandma cried grabbing my shirt. I couldn't hold it in anymore. My tears were heavy as they ran past the corners of my lips. My mother and sister started crying too, trying to look away. Maybe I stood in front of my grandmother because I had to hear it myself; I couldn't move though. I felt paralyzed, like the only thing keeping me up was my grandmother holding on to my shirt. … The smell of the Caribbean filled the air as we hopped off the plane at Santo Domingo. We were greeted by my Aunt Reyna and my cousin, Coky, Aunt Mami's son. He's a year younger than me, twenty two years old. I couldn't imagine losing my mother at that age. We embraced; I hugged him tight as if I never wanted to let go. I kept telling him, "I'm sorry," but I knew those words couldn't change a thing. He looked broken; his eyes were glassy and restless. Tears ran down his cheeks but he still looked strong and stern, just like his mother. I couldn't get over how tall he was now; that's how I knew too much time had passed. The last time we came to visit was the summer of 2008, seven years had passed. Looking around at the people running around with their suitcases, I thought of the last time we were here at the airport. I remember looking back and seeing Mami crying as we boarded the plane. She said she didn't know when would be the next time she would see us again. The last time we went to visit Mami didn't look unhealthy. She had rich mocha skin that glistened in the summertime. Her dark brown eyes had a powerful glare that the sun couldn't even break. She had black short hair that stopped a few inches pass her shoulder that never seemed to get out of place even in humid temperatures of the Dominican Republic. She looked beautiful. Mami was ten years older than my mother, but people would always mistake them for being twins. In a way they kind of were, from their facial expressions, to their strong demeanors, to their natural beauty. They were the same person. Sometimes when I looked at my mother I could see Mami gazing out the dark brown eyes they both shared. We used to buy calling cards just to talk to Mami for a few hours. My mother used to pass me the phone and I would say, "Cíon Tía." That's a phrase we use in Hispanic culture to show respect to our relatives. She would respond, "Dios te bendiga," which translates to, "God bless you." The rest of the conversations would be the modern day routine of I love you, and I love you too. I wish I would have said more, especially when we found out she was sick. Her kidneys were infected; it had a lot to do with her diabetes and a history of bad eating. But mostly because she didn't receive the right medical attention she needed in the Dominican Republic. Why didn't I ask her how she was doing? Why didn't I tell her to hang in there? Why couldn't I have at least lied to her and tell her everything was going to be okay? I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw her casket positioned in the center of the room. She rested in a white wooden casket with the upper half made out of glass so we were able to see her face. I watched my grandmother hunch over the right side of the casket begging her daughter to wake up. My mother cried on the left side wiping 16

her tears off the glass sobbing, "Mami, Mami!" My sister stood by my mother's side holding her face in her hands trying to hold in her cry. I stood at the foot of the casket bawling, breathing heavy, not able to move once again. When it was finally my turn to see her, I placed my hand on the glass attempting to caress her face. Lying there dressed in all white with two roses at her side, she looked weak. Her face stuffed to its capacity but the life already sucked out of her. She must have been at least fifty pounds lighter. I kept seeing her open up her eyes. I still don't know if I imagined it or if even in a casket Mami tried to fight death. I kissed my hand and pressed it against the glass. We all dwelled in silence as we drove to the cemetery to place my Aunt in her tomb. My mother stared out the window with her mouth open as her head bobbed back and forth every time we hit a bump. She sat in the back with my sister and my cousin Carminia, Mami's daughter. I sat in the passenger seat as my uncle drove, but I turned my body around so I could keep an on my mother. A part of me felt like she might die too. Her face looked exhausted from crying all day; I saw her soul hanging on by a thread. The wind whistled against the leaves as we listened to the last words. My Aunt Renya drove my grandmother back to her house because she didn't think Viola could handle the funeral. Mami's daughter had her body thrown over the casket, crying out "Five more minutes, five more minutes!" Some guys were trying to pull her off, but Coky told them, "Let her go! Let her have the five minutes with her mother!" My mother started freaking out, yelling, "I want Mami at home! I want Mami at home!" She stood there shaking with her hair a mess, her dress out of place, and her shoes covered in dirt. I saw the strong woman that raised me falling apart in front of me. I had to hold her; she didn't need me to be strong anymore; she needed me to be her crutch. I held her tight trying to calm her down, but her eyes were looking right through me. I pulled her close and cried, "I know, I know..." â&#x20AC;Ś The sun hovered over the city skyline as I waited for the hoist on the 32nd floor, at 70 Pine Street. I realized I hadn't talked to God since I received the bad news from my sister. Closing my eyes for the first time in a long time, I prayed for healing, for my family, and for understanding. I told God what hurt me the most was that I never really said goodbye. Then I had a crazy idea; I asked God if I could talk to my Aunt for a little. With my eyes still closed, I listened to the New York City traffic simmer into the darkness. I felt the heat of the sun cover my eyelids like my Aunt's eyes staring into my soul. I asked her if she felt better. If she let everyone taste her food up there in heaven. I promised her I'd take care of Coky, and that I'd watch over him like a brother. Tripping over my words, I apologized for not picking up the phone more, for not going to visit more, and for not getting to know her more. I told her that I loved her, and that I never thought I'd see her go. But I'll see her again, in heaven, or in a dream, or in the eyes of my mother. CĂon TĂa

Conspiring of the Sun and Moon Daniell Shupp

Act one/Scene one: Takes place in space. A navy blue atmosphere with thousands of stars and sparkling galaxy swirls. SUN *shining down onto earth* I just can’t take it anymore. I cannot keep rising everyday over these forsaken creatures. Such a wonderful planet infested with such evil inhabitants. I can’t just stand by and watch as these parasites destroy beautiful Earth. MOON *at the far end of Earth in the dark yells across space to Sun* Sun, I hear you. I really do. I weep for beautiful Earth. She hasn’t spoken in years. I believe these humans may be killing her. SUN I didn’t know you could hear me. I am so angry. I’m trying to come up with a solution. MOON I have thought about this for a very long time. We should destroy them. Destroy all humans. Restore Earth back to her healthy and lush self. SUN But how, Moon? MOON Don’t rise for them anymore. Deprive them of your glorious warmth. Freeze them all. SUN Won’t that hurt Earth though? MOON She will freeze over. She has done it before. She can handle it. Once all the creatures have gone, come back and rise for Earth. Thaw her and she will be reborn and as lush and healthy as ever. SUN You are absolutely right. *Sun pulls away from Earth as hard as he can, slowly backing away and leaving Earth in darkness*

MOON *sits quietly in the dark watching earth begin to freeze* EARTH *coughs* MOON Earth, was that you? EARTH Moon, my darling. I truly believe this is a mistake. I know you think these creatures are killing me. They very well may be. However, I love them. They are my children. I can feel them suffering. MOON Let them go, Earth. They are no good. They don’t love you. EARTH But you see, Moon. Some do. Some love me very much. And no matter how confused they can be at times. I have faith that they will do the right thing. MOON I don’t understand. EARTH And you wouldn’t be able to and it is difficult to explain. I can feel when they honor me. As their small feet track against my flesh. When they admire my nature, my trees, my plants. When they take my seeds and plant them in my soil. They feed my soul. You and sun wouldn’t understand how it feels. MOON *her tears fall sparkles into the atmosphere* SUN *enters into scene now embracing Earth with his sumptuous light and warmth* I heard everything. I didn’t know that you felt this way. I am willing to stand by you and risk whatever you are willing to risk. EARTH I will risk it all. I love my children. *Fades to black*

14 Months, a Sonnet for Hugo Monica Lewis

Two bodies intertwine to make one more, A tiny seed, time lapse, shoots out and grows, I’ve pushed from hip bone’s cradle twice before, The moment when by sight each person knows. Out of the sickness, into pregnant glow, Three quarters of the way, how can it be? The other kids are asking, is it now? It’s almost time we’ll have to wait and see.

Into this world, so bright, you’re lifted, child!

Marsupial babe, sweet, clinging to my breast, A little sleep, you’re tiny and you’re wild, You’re third, and start to fit in with the rest. We never thought we’d have one more than two; I can’t imagine my life without you.

Cella Memorium John Goffe-Stoner

The village of Cella existed as if in a dream. Gently rocking with the rhythmic ebb and flow of the tide against its walls, it resembled a massive, translucent, crystalline sphere. The sea that Cella floated in stretched on to the horizon, a placid expanse of crimson stretching into the infinite black. Inside, the villagers went about their daily lives with clockwork efficiency. Never a wasted moment, always pure in action, the people of the village moved as a single organism. Each with their task to complete. They plied their various trades with virtue and skill born of a millennium of tradition. Every day the stalwart red ships from The Empire of the Unseen arrived. They were unloaded promptly with the same economy and skill as befit the high standards of a Cellian worker. As they unloaded the ships, they would rejoice in their work with songs and tales of past villages and their peopleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s important contributions to the world they lived in. The songs of life, the songs of love. The songs of the histories. The songs of death and sacrifice. For everyone knew, death would come for them all eventually. However, the people of Cella gave their labor gladly for they were the only race of being capable of processing the food that the Empire of the Unseen made use of, and in return, they were allowed to keep a portion of the processed food to nourish and restore themselves and return the following day, rejuvenated and reborn. It was in this way that the villagers and the Empire of the Unseen lived in an equilibrium unbroken for a millennium. The people of Cella were Merfolk and entirely aquatic in nature and thus could not venture beyond the outer membrane of their village. The spherical outer shell of the village held inside itself the only environment that could sustain them. They swam to and fro with great alacrity, carrying the massive parcels of supplied nutrients from the Empireâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ships and depositing them on conveyor belts to the main storehouse. Since the villagers could not leave the confines of their aquatic home, it was necessary to bring them inside the village. As the ships were automated and had no crew, the people of the village would simply extend the section of the bubble that the ship was nestled against in order to envelope the barge and draw it into the heart of the village where it was unloaded. After this process was completed, they would then expel the ship by retracting the outer shell of the village away and allowing it to slide back into the endless sea. It would then return to its homeland to be reloaded, and the process would begin anew in an endless cycle like a finely tuned piece of clockwork--each gear and cog falling into place as it should with quiet precision. From the store houses another conveyor belt trundled the packages along to the factory where the crates were systematically disassembled, weighed, and measured. Great care was taken to ensure that nothing was wasted. Everyone needed to eat; no one must go hungry. It was the basic law of the land. We thrive as a community or we perish. From there yet another conveyor belt took the packages of ingredients to the massive kitchens where the food was prepared and packed again for return to the 21

Empire of the Unseen. It was here that the food was specially prepared for the people of the village. The kitchens powered by the power plant throbbed at the core of village like the heartbeat of a living thing. It pulsed with the inevitability of time, striking out the daily rhythm of life in the village with an omnipresent yet comforting thump. Just as omnipresent yet comforting was the Tower of Lysosomes. The Pretorian guard housed within stood watch over the people of the village. They stood as one, a stalwart bastion of force against any invader who would seek to disrupt the peaceful, joyful rhythm of life in the village. They were fearsome warriors clad in shimmering plate of unbreakable, imbued steel. In their left hands, they wielded a tower shield which pulsed with the light of a thousand suns. In their right hands, they gripped imposing and glaive tipped spears which crackled and shown with an energy born of their undying devotion to the protection of their precious village. Seated in her tower, Gaia reigned supreme over the village. A leader of pure benevolence, her only thought was the safe keeping of her village and its people. She watched them go about their daily lives, picking them up when they stumbled. Comforting them when they hurt. Helping them to succeed in their tasks through her constant attention to even the smallest detail of administration. Arrayed in the same imbued steel plate as the Praetorian guard, hers had the addition of two pauldrons of brass inlaid steel. Clamped in place with two broaches of pure obsidian was a cloak of white that flowed around her in the liquid environment of her home. Her hands were encased in gauntlets with the same brass inlay pattern. Clamped to the left hand was a small round Targe or small shield. Since it was built into her armor, it still allowed her free use of her left hand without issue. Belted at her side was a short hand, a half sword and clamped in a spoulder on her back was her staff, made of the same obsidian and topped with a crystal of the deepest blue. Today, she felt uneasy. Something was wrong. It started as a terrible whisper. A roiling, festering shriek across her consciousness. An ululating wail that rose into a rolling wave of tortured voices. She sat bolt upright and threw herself forward towards the nearest portal to the village. Her heart froze as she saw the attack. Falling from the sky they came, massive black pyramids of obsidian cut through with fissures of malevolent pulsing red light. “Stand firm!” She screamed the command to the walls of the village, and the membrane of the village’s outer shields turned opaque and became hard as steel. It was for naught. With a tortured screech the pyramid tips of the flying ziggurats slammed into the opaque barrier with a shattering force that sent a tumultuous shock-wave through the aquatic world of the village with tidal force. Out from the gaping maw of the red cracks that ran like crimson fire along the sides of the invading vessels poured a massive wave of crimson that flowed like oil in water and poured down upon the helpless villagers bellow. Where it flowed over them, they writhed in a tortured, flailing agony and then fell silent floating motionless in the remaining aquatic environment, an environment that was slowly draining out of the massive rents made by the invading ziggurats. The voice spoke again in a screaming hiss comprised of a thousand voices, “We are legion, we are death, and we will consume you!” 22

Gaia violently shook herself free of the horrifying scene and leaped into action. “To me my Guardians,” she bellowed. Her legion flowed forth to array themselves behind her in straight orderly rows, tower shields gleaming in the light of their glaives. She was about to order them forward when a crack appeared in the tip of one of the ziggurats. Falling open into two equal halves, a being emerged from the gaping chasm. Clothed in a black robe it floated on a platform made of the same black material as the ziggurats outer layer. The eyes struck her first. Pulsing with malevolent red fire they pierced out of the shadow created by its hooded rob and shot chills of ice through her as their gaze fell on her. Draped over its corpse-like body was a black robe with red epaulets and a crimson red cord tied around its waist. Stretching out with its withered and skeletal hand the creature spoke a single word in the same ululating voice of a thousand dread nightmares, “RISE!” As one, the body of every dead villager struck down by the hellish red liquid rose and turned towards Gaia’s advancing guard. Moving forward as one unit they flowed towards the charging soldiers as if they were a school of malevolent piranha. The wave of undead struck with a thunderous impact against the guards outturned shields. The guard struck back with a wave of energy from the tips of their imbued spears vaporizing the front line of the hoard in a massive surge of white light and a cacophony of sound. For a moment it looked like the tide would turn. The cloaked figure on the pediment cackled and reached out his hand again. “FALL,” was all he said. The red mist flowed again enveloping the advancing guard in a red wave of death. It took them all, their lifeless bodies thrashing. Seeing the onrush of red smoke, Gaia had thrown herself upward, momentarily breaching the surface of the now half drained village. Flying through the air, her lungs gasping for lack of oxygen, she pierced the surface and flew straight at the architect of her village’s utter destruction. The fury of a thousand suns shown from her glaive tipped spear as she drove straight for his heart. Throwing back his head and opening his arms wide he screamed “BREAK!” and a wave of force struck her. She flew backwards and impacted into the side of the tower and slid to the parapet with a sickening thud and lay still. As her vision grew dim, she knew she was dying as her village died around her. “We are Carcinos,” spoke the same hellish voice. “We are legion, we hunger.” Struggling, she dragged herself to the edge of the parapet and looked down on the hellscape her village had become. The red mist flowed unchecked, changing the villagers into the undead helots that swarmed over the village. In despair she collapsed, half draped, half laying across the balustrade of the high tower of Lysosomes her impact having shattered it. The ruble strewn about the balcony lay as testament to the force of her impact. Her armor broken and shattered, her majestic cape a torn memory of shredded fabric. As she opened her eyes for the last time she saw a shining light pierce the heavens. “Valorous Gaia, you have fought well, you held the tide. The Eradani of the Empire of The Unseen ride to your aid. Though you fall this day, we will avenge you.” 23

The voice was angelic, and it struck the village’s remaining outer shell like the toll of a temple bell. Falling through the broken barrier came a wall of white fire; in its midst were vague figures of men and women armed and clad in shinning suits of armor. The fire rolled over the village cleansing it and raising it to the ground. With a massive crack the outer shell of the village finally gave way and fell into the surrounding ocean with a deafening sound. Nothing of Gaia or Cella or the invading horde of ravaging dead remained. The sea was calm. “Ellie can you hear me?” The little girl awoke in a strange room, surrounded by concerned faces. A man in a white lab coat hovered over her, his face awash with kind concern. She gave him a weak smile and the relief was evident in his face. “It was touch and go there for a minute,” he said to her parents who stood next to her bedside holding each other. “Oh Ellie I’m so happy to see you,” her mother broke down and grasped her hand. “When you didn’t wake up after your last surgery…” She broke down again. Ellie proffered a weak smile and attempted to pat her mother’s hand. She could feel her strength slowly returning. The war was over. Her hair would grow back she had been told. Her skin return to the glowing pink of youth. She would see many more happy days. “There isn’t any trace of the cancer left,” the man in the white coat said. As she drifted off into a contented and restful sleep she dreamt of what she would do with her second chance at life. The new village of Cella bobbed softly on the sea. The new Gaia looked down from her tower and sighed contentedly. Everything had been restored as it had been. In her being was the memory of those who came before. The horror and carnage that had laid waste to her peaceful village a distant memory. A new village, reincarnated by the Empire of the Unseen, sat in the exact same place as the old one. Smacking her mailed fist against the parapet with a triumphant “Thwack,” she swam down to oversee the tasks of the day. This was the village of Cella reborn. There was always something to do.

Go Live Your Dream Aaron Turner

If you keep on believing, the dreams that you wish will come true. Cinderella. They say if you dream a thing more than once, it’s sure to come true. Sleeping Beauty. I want adventure in the great wide somewhere. I want it more than I can tell. Beauty and the Beast. For the first time in forever, I’m getting what I’m dreaming of. A chance to change my lonely world, a chance to find true love. Frozen. I’ve been looking out a window for eighteen years dreaming of what it might feel like when those lanterns rise in the sky. I have often dreamed of a far off place, where a great, warm welcome will be waiting for me. Hercules. Just because I cannot see it doesn’t mean I can’t believe it! The Nightmare before Christmas. But dreams do come true. And maybe something wonderful will happen. Enchanted. All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them. Walt Disney. What do all of these quotes have in common, one may ask? The answer is that all of these quotes have one main focus in common. That one main focus is that they all include a dream within their story of some sort. Whether it be a fictional Disney character or a quote made by Walt Disney himself, there is always a dream that is dreamed of. They are not just simple ordinary dreams either. They are dreams that one may say is nearly impossible to accomplish or obtain. Not only that, but these dreamers also had to overcome many obstacles on the way to eventually make these dreams become a reality. Much like, individuals in the real world have to deal with every day. What would someone say if a newborn child by the name of Aaron Allen Turner born on June 6, 1994 in Huron Valley - Sinai Hospital in Commerce Township, MI at 3:26am knew right away what he wanted to do with his life and where he wanted to end up? One would call him crazy, now wouldn't they? However, better believe it or not folks, but this is indeed a true story that occurred 22 years ago and continues to grow each and every day. It all started with a little boy who grew up surrounded by Disney films, music, toys, you name it. To almost everyone else, it would just be another item. Nothing of importance, really. As a matter of fact, these “items” were doing the exact opposite for this individual. These are the building blocks that helped spark this little boy’s imagination and lifelong dream of eventually working for Walt Disney Records or Walt Disney Studios. He didn’t always have this ambition and determination to accomplish and become in reach of his dreams though. While growing up, he did not have the best support from his family and friends, except for his mom, sister and best friend named Matthew Cezat. Aaron was constantly degraded which resulted in his self-esteem dropping drastically. He had no idea how he would be able to accomplish anything with having such a low self-esteem. It was not until his mom and dad ended up getting a divorce which resulted with a change of scenery, home and school wise, until he began to gain that self-esteem back. He was able to make new friends, improve his grades and eventually begin working for his dream company. This was something that Aaron would have never 25

thought of doing due to his low self-esteem, but his best friend pushed him to apply for the Disney College Program in early 2015 and that is when his dreams began to come true. On February 20, 2015, Aaron decided to apply for the Disney College Program and he truly could not explain the happy, sad, excited and nervous emotions that he was feeling all of a sudden. The application process was as nerve-wracking with all of the processes that one had to go through as it was, but with Aaron wanting to work for Disney all of his life, the stress had even more of an impact on him than he anticipated. The general application was not that difficult for him to fill out. It was the typical application that a normal application looked like, with the basic general questions that included name, education, work experience and all of those related things. As crazy as it seems for the simple application, it was known for not that many applicants to get through to the next process: the web-based interview. This was mostly due to the thousands of applicants that had applied. The questions were just simple personality questions and how you would react to certain circumstances, so he did not expect the process to be as nerve-wracking, but it indeed was. There was even a slimmer chance of getting through this process, but he accomplished it and was offered a phone interview. The final process between him and receiving acceptance into the internship was just one step away…how exciting! The date was March 1, 2015 when he finally had the phone interview that he was waiting oh so anxiously for, but the day finally arrived. He had everything planned out: the possible questions that he would be asked, his top role choices, as well as any questions that he had for the interviewer. Aaron decided to tape all of the papers that he had created to the wall of his bedroom to be prepared for the interviewer to call at 9:30am to interview him. The famous lyrics of “Let It Go” began playing and that is when the feeling felt unreal…Aaron was receiving the call, the final step between him and landing a job with the most incredible company ever, Disney. The questions were everything that he prepared for and the interview didn’t last longer than 30 minutes. It was the most exhilarating experience Aaron had ever had in his life. The anticipation was much more now as the waiting game began. Seconds, minutes, hours, days and eventually weeks went by while Aaron continued to wait to hear back from the Disney College Program to see if he was accepted into the internship or not. He was constantly checking his email to see if he received anything back to notify him, but still nothing. It was not until March 27, 2015 at 1:37pm when he was going to pick up his sister from school when he received the email that would change his life forever. With Aaron receiving the email and everything, he knew that his wildest dreams were finally coming true. Aaron received the arrival date of August 17, 2015 and was offered the role of Attractions to work at Walt Disney World in Orlando, FL. It was time for Aaron to find his roommates that he would be rooming with for the next few months, at least until January 4, 2016. He eventually found out and chose all of his roommates. They were Mark from Illinois, Tyler from Ohio, Shane from Florida, Brian from Missouri and David from California. Now that he had everything planned out, it was time to wait again. The week right before his arrival date eventually came around. 26

To make things even more fun, Aaron had his mom and sister tag along with him to help move down to Florida and make a mini vacation out of it. It was the time of his life indeed. After driving 17 hours all the way down to Orlando, they finally made it: their final destination. All good things must come to an end unfortunately though. All of the memories that Aaron had with his family would be kept for a lifetime, but with them being physically there and spending time with them was coming to a close. Aaron’s family had to leave to go back home and it was now time for Aaron to really begin living his dream. The housing meeting was just around the corner as well as countless days of introductions and training sessions, but it was all well worth it. He was living with a bunch of really cool guys where they resided at the complex called Patterson Court. Later in the week, Aaron eventually found out that he would be working at Hollywood Studios, where he would be working at The Great Movie Ride. As much as Aaron looked forward to working in this location, he unfortunately didn’t last in training long due to the exposure to fog and smoke with his asthma. It was time to be re-casted and time to reroute this dream of his. After a week of waiting to be re-casted, Aaron was assigned the role of an Attractions Cast Member at a different location in Hollywood Studios called Indiana Jones Epic Stunt Spectacular! Aaron was terrified at first because he did not know what to expect, but as soon as he began training, he knew that he would have a blast! He was welcomed by a group of really great cast members who eventually became some of his closest friends that he met over the program. Things were stressful at times for sure, but it was all well worth it in the end. As time went on, Aaron met two of his closest friends, Ashlyn and Ellie as well as the love of his life, Morgan Foss. Never in a million years did Aaron think that he would meet people like these three that would make such a huge impact on his life. Ever since the day Aaron laid his eyes on and began talking with Morgan right by Cinderella’s Castle at Magic Kingdom, he spent every day since interacting with her. Although he did not know that she would not extend her program like he did, where he would be staying until May 12, 2016 to work in DinoLand Attractions at Animal Kingdom, he could not let her go. He decided that he wanted her to move in with him to move to Nashville and grow with each other for the rest of their lives, and she said yes right away. He will now be leaving his program early on April 9, 2016 to move to Nashville to expand on his dream with his new dream. Aaron was so ecstatic about his current endeavors that he decided to dream even bigger. Aaron decided to apply to his dream college at Belmont University, where he would eventually get accepted to and move to Nashville, Tennessee where he would receive a major in Music Business, as well as living with a girlfriend that he met at Walt Disney World while on his program. He was living his dream! Aaron wanted to be able to work for Disney in this career field and there was not one thing that Aaron was going to have get in his way. There was no limit to Aaron’s dreaming and by the way it looks, he doesn't plan on stopping anytime soon. Dream big or do not dream at all. Dream impossible things. Go live your dream. Dream 27

Sisterhood Karyssa Witzig Each one of these girls is unique in her own way One is here, and the other lives there Separated by miles, but our hearts closer than ever One is shorter and the other is taller Separated by height, but never by measure One has brown hair and the other has blonde hair Separated by personal appearance, but sisters forever One views life this way and the other that way Separated by beliefs, but more alike than ever One has this path and the other has this destination But never has the difference affected our bond and eternal sisterhood

Growing up Garage Abby Keesee

I always dreamt of owning one and now my charmed misadventures in that car are merely oil stained memories. Starring at my desktop I see a beautiful 1980 El Camino pressed into the background display. The image sizzles in my mind as I gaze into that perfect, glossy black finish kissed by just a hint of chrome. I can still feel the smooth leather grip of the steering wheel in my palms. They don’t build them like they used to anymore, with solid frames and curves that would make even Marilyn Monroe blush. El Camino is a Spanish word that when translated into English means the path, road, journey, or way. However, Chevy was not actually the first to use this model name; the beautiful and lesser-known 1954 Cadillac El Camino concept never saw the rubber meet the road and was dropped. In 1959 the first Chevy El Camino rolled off the line, as a response to the Ford Ranchero. Sadly, after only two years of production the project fell off due to poor sales and the Chevy El Camino almost suffered the same fate as its early namesake counterpart. Four long years later Chevy decided to overhaul the model based on the highly successful Chevelle chassis and Second Generation El Camino was born. I remember the first time I saw one my mother and I were sitting at a red light just outside of the school when a heart stopping rumble emerged from the vehicle next to us. I had always been told I had an extraordinary amount of interest in cars for a 12-year-old girl, and I asked my mom what kind of car that was. “It’s an El Camino,” she replied. From that day on I was obsessed. Pennysaver clippings, auto maintenance guides, and car calendars all featuring Chevy El Caminos began to flood my pastel purple bedroom and my small change box became heavy with spare cash. Today it might be referred to as a “crossover vehicle” but over the years the El Camino has seen a number of both flattering and unflattering titles. The more complimentary names went to two sister cars built by GMC, the Sprint and the Caballero. In the years following several other nicknames were dubbed by grease monkeys: Hell-Camino, The Mullet of cars, Elky, Cowboy Cadillac, El Meaño, The Meaner, and more. I still attach the smell of transmission fluid and coolant to some of my fondest memories. Since before I was born, Uncle Dick owned an auto repair garage and I spent my days after school watching welders spit blue and orange sparks across the cool concrete floors wishing nothing more than to get my hands on some of those tools. By age 14 my dream had come true and I was a regular oil jockey in that garage. Every penny I earned I socked away for that raven colored car of my dreams all while learning how to turn wrenches for myself. It almost goes without saying that only people with great taste can really appreciate this half car/ half truck piece of American muscle. President Bill Clinton, Frank Sinatra, Sammy Hagar, Allen Jackson, Dwight Yoakam, David Koresh, Dick Guldstrand, Bob Smith ("Jet Car Bob"), and even Evel Knievel are said to have owned an El Camino a time or two. 29

The first day I laid eyes on her I will admit she was a pitiful sight but my heart burst with excitement to know she was mine. No carpet, no door panels, only primer for paint and an ill-fitting hood from a Trans Am complete with a firebird painted onto it. Everything I had done in my life up to that point was work for this car. Heated by the Florida sunshine I remember that black, vinyl, bench seat searing the back of my thighs the very first day we met. In that car I felt like I saw the world even without getting so far as the border of my county. My pride and joy stayed with me for seven wonderful years. We weathered three engine upgrades, a new paint job and some body work, a full set of pipes to let her sing and everything in between. She was a glossy bird of perfection until the day I gave her up for my job in the skies. I regret ever selling that car but I know there will be another one for me some day one penny and one turn of a wrench at a time.

Love’s Heartbreak Erica Goethel

The sunlight shot through the crack of the blinds Like a military trained sniper Hitting her right in-between the eyes. Ending the wonderfully peaceful slumber. < It’s funny how that always seems to work out. > The moment her blue/green eyes opened reality snuck back into her mind Causing her heart to sink to her stomach A painful drop of gravity. A rollercoaster ride she wasn’t prepared for An abrupt ending of what was promised forever. The sole escape sleep Sleep was the only time where she could Rest her broken heart and forget the pain and the loneliness of love lost. < Oblivion > When the heart craves the love of one The love of others is easily forgotten. Tossed aside, invalid, invisible. And it’s not that she doesn’t love them. The fog dwindling after the storm has clouded her vision All she can see is… < > Every waking moment was a battle < Though it might go unnoticed. > Every step forward felt like a marathon As though the life she used to know fastened 100 pound weights around her ankles Making the healing process unforgivably slow. The only way out is through, one step at a time. New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings. Only time can heal a broken heart. If you’re brave enough to say goodbye, life will reward you with a new hello. You have to keep breaking your heart until it opens. The struggle you are in today is developing the strength you need for tomorrow. Sadness flies away on the wings of time. Let your past make you better – not bitter. You are not alone. Cliché sayings spew the mouths of her friends as they offer comfort without knowing Nothing can comfort pain like this. And she’d rather them just shut the hell up. Sometimes the best of intentions fail to quiet the loudness of heartbreak. Causing more pain irritation and annoyance 31

That she has patience for. It’s not their fault They want to help But there’s not a damn thing anyone can do. She alone is on this roller-coaster Some days are up most down. Some fast most slow. < Is there a seatbelt on this thing? > If you are going through hell, keep going. You have to fight through bad days to earn the best days of your life. Storms make trees take deeper roots. Life has two rules: 1. Never quit 2. Always remember rule No. 1. Obstacles are put in your way to see if what you want is really worth fighting for. Be like a postage stamp stick to one thing until you get there. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. It’s not whether you get knocked down it’s whether you get up. The greatest glory in living lies not in never failing but in rising every time we fall. Keep going each step may get harder but don’t stop the view at the top is beautiful. It’s better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all. Every great love starts with a great story. Love is a sickness full of woes all remedies refusing a plant that with most cutting grows most barren with best using. Those we love never go away even when they can’t be physically present they walk beside us, still loved and still missed. Love is why we are here. Let your tears come let them water your soul. Oh tis’ love that makes the world go round. One day One day One day One day < She’ll love again.>

Astro’s Story Kelsey Chapman

Why are they leaving? Where are they going? My people are always leaving. They’re going to work. They’re going to school. They’re going to parties. But what about me? They leave me here all alone. And here I am, starring out the window and watching my people drive away. The life of a dog is trying and sad. Especially when my people leave. My name is Astro, and from what I know, my name is from an old television show about the future. My family has called me this name ever since they brought me home. I don’t remember much about life before entering this new family. I remember my mother and my brothers and sisters. It was a great life with them, until one by one my brothers and sisters left and joined new families of their own. The Anderson family chose me, or that is what they think. It was me who chose them. My daily schedule is about the same every day. From the moment I hear even the slightest movement, I’m awake and ready for the day to start. It is usually Julia, the mother of this family, who wakes up first. She is the shortest one in the family, but her ability to grab items out of her reach surprises me every time. She has kind crystal blue eyes, and a soft calming voice. She was unsure of me at first, but I know now that we are great friends. After she wakes up, she opens the door and allows me to go outside. After I come back in, she scratches my head and then sleepily strolls into the kitchen to turn on her counter-top gadgets. While Julia is in the kitchen, I sneakily walk to Jordan’s room. Jordan is youngest of the three daughters in this family. She is young and she always welcomes me in to her bed. Jordan loves fluffy and soft blankets, and I have found a love for them myself. I sleep here until our father, Mark, opens the door and awakes Jordan. The three of us walk out of the room and go into the kitchen. The whole family eats breakfast together, including me. Julia prepares the breakfast food, and the kids; Gage, Hannah, and Jordan all begin to eat that food. Mark pours food into my bowl, but I always wish that I were eating what they are. It smells heavenly, and a whole lot better than the kibbles in my bowl. After breakfast, the family gets ready for their own days. Pretty soon they’re off to school and work. And then I am alone. A big part of my day is lying around the house. Sometimes I fall asleep, but most of the time I’m waiting for my people to return. I try to get some exercise in. I walk up and down the stairs a few times. I walk into each room and sniff around for any forgotten food or other mystery items. I can usually find greasy chips in Gage’s room. He is the oldest and certainly the messiest, but also the most hungry. It seems like there’s always food in his room. I’m starting to think that he’s leaving these treats out for me. Regardless if they are for me or not, I eat the snacks anyway. I mope back to my favorite spot in the living room. I lay there for what seems like forever. Time is a funny thing. It seems to go by slowly when you least want it to, and then when you want it to slow down, it speeds right back up again. 33

I hear a noise outside. Someone is approaching the house. Every day around this time in the afternoon, a strange man comes to our house. He drops something off at the door, and then leaves without saying a word. I know he can hear me. He knows I’m in here. He’s lucky that I am inside; otherwise, I would have a strong conversation with him outside. After the mysterious man leaves, I go back and lay down. One day, a few years ago, Julia came home from work early. She had one hand placed on her head as she stepped inside. She kicked her heels off, and went straight to the couch. I stood up and shook my tail as she walked past me. She gently patted my head, and I watched her sit on the couch. She slowly grabbed a blanket and pillow and fell asleep. From the moment she walked in, there was a weird smell. It was a dull and sour smell. I had smelled this scent a little before. One day it came into our house and since then it has surrounded Julia. That was the start to Julia’s short work days. Every day after that one, she would come home early. As she laid on the couch, she would look straight at me with those kind crystal blue eyes, but she looked at me like she was begging for something. Begging for help perhaps. Perhaps begging for that smell to go away. Soon her short work days began to be no work days. She began to sleep in, and she spent the days with me. Within months I watched my Julia shrivel up and become hairless. If she wasn’t sleeping, she was most likely getting rid of the little food she had eaten that morning. Julia’s mother moved into our house soon after Julia started staying home. Our family called her Grammy. She didn’t seem to like me much. She never played with me, and she barely touched me. I just seemed to be in her way most of the time. Grammy really helped Julia, and for that I am thankful. Julia was sick for months, but she seemed to get better once Grammy moved in. That dull and sour smell was getting weaker and weaker. I couldn’t wait for the day that this smell was gone forever. That day arrived months and months later. Julia was finally herself again. Grammy moved back to wherever she came from. I was so happy that she was better, but with great health, comes working. Julie went back to her full work day schedule, which meant that I was alone, again. Since then, I have spent my mornings and afternoons alone. I find myself wishing for my family to be sick, so that I can have company. Sick days come and go, but they never last as long as I wish they would. I love my healthy family; I just wish they could spend every day with me.

A True Hero

Marissa Sotomayor Superman, Batman, Spiderman, and Wonder Woman are all someone’s favorite superhero, but when I think of a hero, I think of my Aunt Gloria. Seven years ago, my Aunt Gloria was informed that she had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. As many may not know, pancreatic cancer is one of the most painful and terminal cancers. It was hard to look on the bright side when the news we were given was so dark. My dad’s side of the family is massive: six sisters, all of whom are married, and one son, my father, who is also married. In addition to several aunts and uncles, I am the youngest of fourteen grandchildren. I have always been lucky to have a close knit family. My family will get together for every family member’s birthday and every holiday. Every get-together was always put together by my Aunt Gloria. Loud laughter never failed to fill the room. On Christmas, the love kept the house warm. There is so much love in our family. Although there are so many of us, she always had a way of building and maintaining a good relationship with each of us. She crocheted every grandchild an afghan so that we would always have something for us to remember her by. My afghan is beautiful: purple, green, and pink with seashell shapes stitched into it. The warm, cozy blanket always gives me the feeling that she is with me. In addition to our close family ties, she always made time to do what she would call her “duties”. She volunteered her time in the preemie unit of the hospital by donating hand crocheted blankets and hats for the newborn babies. She also often went to the cancer unit in the hospital to motivate those who had recently been diagnosed to keep fighting. She would go from room to room bringing tears to all the patients, trying to push them to stay strong. The patients, although feeling weak and often discouraged, always enjoyed their visits from Gloria. There was never a dry eye when she was leaving. She always said, “Cancer will only kill you if you allow it to.” Many people thought she was crazy, but she beat the odds of pancreatic cancer. My aunt battled pancreatic cancer for seven years, and made it to remission three times before the cancer returned to take her life. On average, six of every 100 people diagnosed with pancreatic cancer live up to five years. My aunt made it to seven years. I strongly believe it was because of her positive attitude and strength. I have never seen someone act so positive with such a negative disease. She fired a doctor because he told her she was going to die. She claimed he was too negative and we could all kiss “Dr. Doom and Gloom” goodbye. My aunt treasured every moment she was given because she never knew when it could all be over. We also learned to cherish every moment we were able to spend with her, because we never knew when it would be our last goodbye. She was able to see two of her children get married and watch two of her grandchildren be born. Family was what kept her fighting. I never realized the impact my aunt had on my life until she was gone. I was fortunate enough to have a good relationship with her, but I never realized just how much she did for our family until there was no one who did it. When I was accepted into her favorite school, Michigan State, I was so excited to tell her. Although I could 35

not physically call her, I knew that she knew. She spoiled my entire family with love, and we all struggled to say goodbye to her. As her days were coming to an end, my sister and I decided to make a trip out to Canton to visit her. We went inside, sat by her bedside, and attempted to hold back the tears. I will never forget how tired she looked; her skin was flushed, her eyes were heavy, but still she continued to smile. She told us she was in a lot of pain, but seeing us took her pain away. We talked and laughed with her, and I told her I was going to bake her some oatmeal raisin cookies, her favorites. I wanted her to have something she could really enjoy in her final days. I remember her bright smile that could light up the entire room; her laughter was contagious. In my final visit with her, our laughter could be heard from a mile away. We werenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t there for more than twenty minutes, yet the conversation wore her out. As we said our final goodbyes, she fell asleep shortly after. Little did I know, that was the last time my Aunt Gloria was awake. We were the last people to talk to her, and I will always cherish that. The day I found out that cancer took my Auntâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s life, I could not contain the tears. My damp cheeks and puffy eyes could not be controlled. I remember I finally convinced myself to just let it all out, and I did not stop sobbing until I fell asleep that night. I am so thankful to have had such a positive influence on my life. She taught me that the only thing that you can change is your attitude. She remained so positive throughout her entire fight, knowing that it was most likely going to end terminally. She fought regardless of what her numbers told her, and she proved many doctors wrong. Cancer may have taken her body, but nothing could have killed her spirits.

My Guardian Angel Halie Taylor

Butterflies danced in my stomach, my legs felt like they were going to collapse beneath me, my vision began to blur. I could see people around me talking but no sound was coming out. I shook my head, slapped my legs, took a deep breath and sent up a quick prayer. Finally, I knelt down and settled my feet into the starting blocks. This was the moment I had been waiting for. Two years. Two long, painful years had passed since the crash. I can still remember driving home from track practice that night with Dad. We were doing what we did best: singing at the top of our lungs and laughing like crazy. It never crossed my mind that I might lose him that night. It had been raining hard but I wasn’t worried; I trusted Dad. We were almost home too, why couldn’t that semi-truck have hit someone else? Why hadn’t the driver been paying attention? Red means stop. Not go, stop. But he didn’t and before Dad had time to do anything, we were crushed. Dad died instantly. I was rushed to the hospital and spent months in recovery. I ended up with a severe concussion, broken collarbone, and a broken arm. I lost part of my right leg too, but I hated talking about it. I was able to recover from the other injuries but my leg was different. I was permanently stuck with a prosthetic leg. I guess that’s what I hated the most, every day was a reminder of the day I lost my dad. I was reminded I could no longer do what I loved most: run. But one day as I was sitting in the hospital bed, crying out to God asking him why this had to happen to me, something spectacular, almost unbelievable happened. My dad showed up. “Dad, is that…you?” I managed to squeak out. “Hi baby. How are you? You look beautiful. How did you get so pretty?” Dad said with a smile so big I couldn’t help but smile back. “I’m scared, Daddy. I’ll never be normal again. Why did you have to leave me?” I said, choking back the tears. “I know this isn’t easy, but I am right here and I’ll always be right here,” he whispered as he pointed to my heart, “I know this is hard but you are strong and I believe God will restore your body and someday you’ll be able to run again.” “You really think so?” I squealed with excitement at the possibility of running again. “I know so. I have to go now but I’m always in your heart. Whatever you do, just don’t give up. I’m watching from above and I’m looking forward to cheering you on.” He leaned over, kissed my forehead softly and just like that he was gone. Today, that conversation was on replay in my head. This was the moment I had been waiting for and I knew my Dad was watching from the clouds, his heart bursting with pride. I knew he didn’t care if I won, he just wanted to see me run. I had spent months and months in physical therapy, working hard day in and day out to reach my goal of running again. Even on the hard days, I just kept remembering my dad telling me not to give up no matter what I did. So I didn’t. There was blood, sweat and tears but here in this moment, kneeling on the track with my feet on the starting blocks, I knew it had all been worth it. “On your mark…get set…BANG!”

It was just me and the track. No one else was there, well besides Dad. Dad was there in spirit. I could faintly hear him shouting my name. That was all I needed to finish the race strong. As I crossed the finish line I looked around to see who had all beaten me. To my surprise, no one had. All of the hard work I had put in had paid off. My senses came back to me and suddenly I could hear everyone in the stands chanting my name. I looked up, expecting to see familiar faces, but none that were my dad. Yet there he was, wearing the same grin he wore in the hospital on the day he told me that he knew I would run again someday. Butterflies danced in my stomach again, but this time, I danced too.

Sunday Vibes

Christopher Burkhardt The sun is out and it is shining My nephew is here and he is whining New social media app has me vining Weather is prime and I feel sublime My nephew is reading of men and mice As for dinner, I’m making chicken and rice Park earlier has me feeling sore Why does this life feel like such a chore When it’s family it’s so much more Than watching the kid who lives next door I want to sit and get some sun Way too much stuff to get done Detroit is playing and they’re in Cleveland First time in a few years they’re playing post-season Detroit is playing and they’re in Houston We’re talking baseball and they’re cruising A great start to the season A few new team members may be the reason A positive record has me dreaming And then I remember

Stained

Rebecca Gordon I could probably die tonight. The howls outside the cabin came frequently and from too many muzzles to count. One or two I could handle, even with my advanced age, but not a whole pack. Reloading a crossbow, I listened to the cacophony coming from the other side of the near ancient oak door separating me from a gruesome end. The oaken door, sporting new iron hinges wouldn't forever hold the onslaught of furred bodies launching themselves against the outside. Centering my thoughts, I couldn't stop the spiral into the past, when this all began. Fairytales always get the story wrong, changing details and reimagining events to better suit the moral of the tale. I was part of the reality, full of parts they cut out to add interest. I'd never been a helpless little girl, and my cloak hadn't started out red. ~ Still a child, during my twelfth winter, a girl from the village had been found dead. Near my age, she had been forgettable and average, but her death had been anything but. Found in the woods but off the beaten path, her body barely resembled anything humanoid. Entire limbs had been missing, her skin and clothes shredded, guts spilled around her. Laying glassy eyed on her back, splayed out like that, she seemed a grotesque snow angel. The rest of us village children had been the ones to find her. Many ran screaming home, a few wept, more still were sick. I stared at the horror, feeling a strange heat fill my body, clenching and unclenching my fists, wondering what type of animal could have done this. The huntersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; arrival was akin to a bitter wind that slaps you in the face when rounding a corner. Hard looking men and women, each wearing a hooded cowl and carrying a multitude of shining silver weapons lounged, lounged, in the Village Square. One could be seen speaking to the headsman. I stood at the head of the alley leading from my home into the Square, and seethed at their nonchalance. Approaching the nearest group, I let anger fuel my words. "You're supposed to be hunters?" I sneered at them. The group I addressed had been made of two women and a man, no older than their mid-twenties. Each reclined against the fountainâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s edge, knees drawn up and arms resting atop their knees, hands dangling down. I'd interrupted the first woman, a blonde with a square jaw and dark brows that drew down over cold eyes. "Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the idea. What? We don't look like hunters?" Her voice held a mocking tone. "No," I bit out at her. "Why's that little girl? Oh because we're women? You small villages and your small minds. You have no idea-" "Because you're lazy," I interrupted again, "Because a 'little girl' has been slain here, destroyed by some vicious beast, and you're just sitting here DOING NOTHING!" I 40

ended on a near shout. Too intent on burning my anger into the hunter in front of me with my gaze, I didn't see how much attention I had drawn to myself. "Nothing you say? Vicious beast, eh?" Her voice was no longer mocking, but held a soft tone that comforted me no more. "We traveled non-stop for the last day and a half to reach your village, ever since we got word of the attack. So pardon us for resting while our Captain tries to convince your headsman that not only are we necessary, but more death will follow if he doesn't allow us free reign. As for that vicious beast you mentioned? You haven't a clue child. Do you know what kind of hunters we are? We hunt the loup garou. They are far more dangerous than you can imagine, and much more deadly than your average predator." Her eyes stay trained on mine while she told me this. Loup Garou, pah! An old wivesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; tale, a story grandmothers told of a man that could change his shape into that of a wolf. In those stories the man would retain the intelligence of a man, but would lose all trace of humanity. I had heard the tales, and never once fell for them. But looking into the hunter's eyes, which now seemed questioning rather than cold, and remembering the body of the dead girl, I believed. How could I not? "So how do you kill it?" I questioned. The hunter's mouth quirked up on one side, while the woman and man beside her laughed out right, the man throwing his head back while doing so. I flushed, and frowned at them. "You have spirit girl," the man said. He spoke in a voice that rasped out of his throat, like air was hard to come by. Looking at him, his hood had fallen back after his laugh; I saw on his neck a mass of scar tissue. His throat looked as if some animal had tried to tear his windpipe out. "Aye, she does at that. Perhaps..." The first hunter woman stopped herself and stared at me. I stared back, feeling this to be a test. The moment stretched between us, and she gave a small nod, not to me but to herself. "Stay here child," she tossed at me as she rose and approached their Captain. As she walked towards the figure I turned back to the other two hunters. "She likes you. Normally takes her a lot longer to take a shine to someone. That could be good for you, or not, depending," the second woman finally spoke. This hunter had brown hair, braided away from a round face that sported an absurd amount of freckles. "Depending on what?" My head tilted to the side as I asked. "On whether you are brave or just foolish," came a rasped reply from the man. "I don't think I'm either, or maybe I am both. Hard to tell the difference." My response made him throw back his head and laugh again, a sound that didn't rasp as his speaking voice did. The sound was full of mirth, and didn't feel at my expense this time. I smiled in return. "What's your name girl?" the woman asked. "Scarlet," I answered her.

"I'm Cassandra. This jolly man beside me, he's Asher. The other hunter, that's Ruth. And since they're on their way over, our Captain's name is Josef. Call him Captain, or sir," she rushed out the last part before hopping up to her feet. The first hunter, Ruth, came striding back walking evenly with her Captain and my headsman. The headsman seemed to be arguing with the Captain, but a barked word and a slicing of his hand through the air from the Captain silenced the headsman. He glanced at me, but averted his eyes after a moment and shook his head. "So be it. But, you swear that the beast will be taken care of?" the headsman asked of the Captain as they approached. "Killed. Not taken care of," the Captain replied, and turned his back on the headsman, an effective dismissal. Captain Josef was a tall man, but as thin as a willow tree. He sported no insignia to declare him a captain of anything, but his posture commanded the attention of all the hunters gathered. I began to notice that what I had originally taken for lounging to be a relaxed action pose. With very little effort and movement to be seen, every hunter in the Square was now on their feet and joining the circle forming. The circle forming around me. I felt a moment of unease, surrounded by hunters capable of taking down a loup garou. Lifting my chin and squaring my shoulders, I met the Captain's eye. The Captain continued to stare at me, sizing me up. I couldn't stand his inspection any longer. "Sir?" I asked. "You're going to help us kill the beast," he stated matter of factly. ~ Bang, crack! A vicious slam against the oaken door snapped me out of the past, back into the cabin still being assaulted by the pack of wolves. The pack of loup garou. The door held, most likely thanks to the dresser I'd dragged against over to help barricade. The wood had cracked and split down one of the beams of the door. Another few hits and it wouldn't matter what else blockaded the entryway; my main protection was failing. Looking around the stone structure, I took stock of my circumstances. One entrance, the blocked door, two small windows facing the front, too small to fit a child through let alone a fully transformed loup garou. A fireplace with smoldering coals lined the grate. No way in for them, but no way out for me. The howls echoing outside the cabin reminded me again of when I'd first heard a sound like that. ~ Standing in the middle of the circle of hunters, much like the one from the day before, I listened to the last bit of instructions for my part from Ruth and Asher. Cassandra stood nearby, frowning slightly. When Captain Josef had announced I would to help them kill the wolf, I couldn't fathom how. But the plan turned out to be astonishingly simple. And obviously dangerous. I was to be the bait. "Tell me again why I don't get a weapon?" I asked for the umpteenth time.

"Because they can smell the silver, and any other weapon wouldn't do you any good," Ruth replied, also for the umpteenth time. "But we want the wolf to smell me, right?" I asked. "Correct. That's why you're wearing one of our untreated cowls. Remember, the fabric is specially made to protect against their claws and teeth. But when we treat them, the chemicals cling to the fabric and doesn't let out anything thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s in there, including the smell of humans. That's how we are going to sneak up on the loup garou and you, when it approaches." Letting out a breath, I steeled myself. "Ok, I'm ready." "That a girl," Asher said, patting me on the shoulder as he turned and began speaking to other hunters. I walked with the group for a moment; I'd eventually split off and enter the woods on my own, and Cassandra approached. She handed me the basket that would be my cover for entering the woods. Within lay a loaf of bread, some soup and wine for my "ailing grandmother." Seemed to be as good an excuse as any I supposed. Cassandra grabbed my elbow and led me away from the rest of the hunters. I could feel Ruthâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eyes on our backs, but Cassandra strode on as if the plan had always been for her to escort me. "Scarlet, listen. Look straight ahead, do not react to what I tell you." Her words rang serious to my ears. "I don't agree with sending you out there unarmed and untrained. Unfortunately, we don't have time to train you. But the unarmed part I could do something about." Her words came out fast, like she didn't want to be caught saying them. "But how...they said that silver could be smelled..." My words trailed off. I couldn't ruin the plan! My thoughts were racing, trying to come up with a solution when she answered my question. "Not if I had a knife baked into that bread in your basket. Rye bread, strong enough to help cover the scent," Cassandra seemed pleased with herself by this statement. "Gasp! What? That's genius Cassandra!" My enthusiasm for the plan, and the weapon she risked sneaking me was palpable. "Just be careful out there," she said. Cassandra broke away from me then, and I noticed while we'd been talking she'd been leading me towards a trail into the forest. The trees loomed high and bare, and snow still covered the ground. The path which normally looked worn from foot traffic, now seemed full of fluffy fresh snow even though it hadn't descended in days. People no longer felt safe in the woods, even on the paths. Inhale, exhale. Take a step. I walked into the woods. Walking along the path, with no clear destination in mind, I let the sounds around me settle my nerves. Birds that hadn't migrated chirped here and there, and the wind breezed past gently. I glanced a fox or two, walking amongst the trees, stalking 43

prey perhaps. Similar to what the wolf would be doing with me. I smelled the pine trees not far off, the icy tang of the air, even smoke from some far away chimney. Standing there I almost believed myself to be safe. But then everything became quiet. No birds. No small animals bustling around the bushes. Even the breeze seemed to sense the menace and halted its blowing. Nothing stirred, and I saw no danger. With nothing else to do, I walked on. The bushes along the path grew more unruly, and blocked the view beyond the trail. Seeing a bend up ahead I slowed my pace, until just a few feet from that blind turn I stopped dead. My breath came fast and hard, the air steaming in front of me. I had to do this. I took a step toward the turn and something came crashing out of the bushes to my right. Screaming, I leapt back and threw my arms in front of me, falling on my behind. Yet nothing attacked. No teeth were tearing at my flesh. Moving my arms I looked and saw in the snow the prints from what seemed like a rabbit, crossing in front of me. "Afraid?" The word, soft and lilting came so unexpectedly I screamed and flung my arms in front of my face again. "No, no. Don't worry, I won't hurt you!" The voice came from a woman, and when I peeked around my arms, she stood just a few feet away, coming from around the turn in the path. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. I heard you scream and I wanted to make sure you were alright." The woman seemed to be in her thirties, with coal black hair, and a beautiful face. Her eyes looked kind as she approached, her hand held out to help me up. As I accepted and let her pull me to my feet, my face burned with heat. I reached down for my basket, which when I had flung my arms up so unceremoniously, had scattered the contents onto the path. The soup had spilled, but the wine bottle and bread lay harmless side by side. I tried to salvage what I could of the soup. The woman leaned down reaching for the wine and bread, holding them for a moment before handing them back to me. "Again, I'm sorry I frightened you. I understand though. I'm not comfortable myself ever since...well I suppose you have heard. What are you doing here, by yourself, in the forest?" "It's…it's fine. I'm not scared. Just startled that's all," I told her. My answer fooled neither of us, but thankfully the woman chose to ignore the lie. "I'm taking food to my grandmother; she's been ill recently, and with everything going on, I didn’t want her walking the paths into town." This lie fell more easily off my tongue. I'd practiced it enough with the hunters. "But you can walk the trails then?" she asked. I just shrugged in response. "You must be brave...would you mind if I walked with you for a little ways? That way, we can keep each other safe." She seemed hopeful as she said this, and I couldn't come up with a good excuse without telling her anything of the hunters’ plan. My role

as bait however hinged on my being alone in the woods though, so I'd have to find a time to part ways without seeming obvious. "That would be wonderful," I told her, and almost meant the words. As we walked on she introduced herself as Heather, and told me she had only come out to check some of the traps she had for game. Since she'd heard of the girl being found she'd stayed home, but food had run low and soon nothing had been left to do but to venture into the woods. We lapsed into a companionable silence afterwards. The bushes thinned out again, but the forest stayed eerily silent. My nerves still frayed, my head swung side to side looking for any movement in the woods that could signal our being followed. The hunters had said they'd be in the forest, but staying far enough back to not alert the loup garou that I was the one they trailed. Coming to a break in the brush, Heather made to leave the path. "I have a trap right through here, 50 yards out or so. Would you... would you mind coming with me?" This could be my opportunity to be on my way, but I couldn't leave her here, an easy target off the trail. Nodding, I stepped through the gap with her. "I'm so thankful I ran into you on the trail! I'd been so hungry, but I'd been worried about coming out into the forest. I knew not many people would be traveling right now." She walked on ahead as she said this, sounding chipper. "People are afraid after what happened to the girl," I replied. Leading us over a fallen tree, rotting away even in the cold, Heather nodded in response. "Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d heard that people had come to hunt the beast. I don't see why they couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t just send some of the village men like they normally do when a wild animal attacks," Heather said this, still walking ahead, looking back every so often. "This wasn't just some wild animal though! You must not have heard, staying home, but the hunters that came believe it wasn't just a normal wolf," I replied. "So a rabid one then?" Her response came more slowly this time. "No, not a rabid one. Not a real wolf at all, but a man that can change into a wolf. They came to hunt him, a loup garou," I said with great severity. "Loup Garou! You're telling tales now girl." She'd turned after she said this, her smile tight. "I'm not! That's what they said; thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s why they're here." Vehemently I willed her to believe me. "There isn't a man that can turn into a wolf in these woods," Heather said this with great conviction. She stopped walking and began looking around at the base of the trees. I opened my mouth to reply, to try to convince her when I got a shiver down my back. Peering around the copse of trees, I realized how far into the woods we'd come. I couldn't see the trail any longer. "Are you sure this is where you set your trap, Heather?" I asked, still staring back the way we'd come, hoping to catch a glimpse of the path. 45

"Of course I am. Right here works perfectly," she said. Heather's voice, which had been different combinations of hesitant and afraid before now seemed strange. Turning towards her, she stood cloakless and naked. Her muscles seemed to be shifting beneath her skin, bones warping. Her hands began to curl, fingers bending in, clawing. My body was locked in place, my limbs felt made of stone. My heart hammered in my chest, and my stomach felt like it had dropped out of me. Heather's voice had a strange quality to it as she said, "So nice of you to come willingly into one of my traps, because I am hungry!" Her mouth had been reforming, resembling a muzzle more as she spoke, until her finals words emerged more as a growl than as speech. Her body had already mostly transitioned into that of a large black wolf. Still frozen in my skin, I watched as Heather the woman, became the loup garou. On all fours fully transformed, she snarled, a sound that raised my hair and sent my heart racing even faster. My body must have decided that racing sounded like a good idea, because finally moving I turned and sped off. I heard what could only be a wolf chuckle behind me, before she snarled again and gave chase. I sprinted away, leaping over branches, and dodging trees trying to regain the path, hoping a hunter would be nearby. Still carrying the basket, the bread and wine rolled within, throwing off my balance as I ran. Snarls and growls sounded not far behind, and I could hear racing feet as the loup garou gained on me. A creek I didn't remember passing before loomed ahead, just a few feet across. The frozen surface glistened under a break in the forest's canopy, a blinding shine that hit my eyes a moment before I leapt. My back foot snagged a branch I hadn't seen, slowing my momentum and bringing me to a crash on the other bank, my lower half breaking the ice of the creek and submerging my legs in the freezing water. Immediately trying to push myself back to my feet, I slammed to the ground by the weight of the loup garou leaping onto my back. Her claw tips dug into my back and with an ominous growl she lowered her head and clamped her teeth on the back of my neck. In my fall, my hood had flown up, they only thing that saved me right then. She latched on, but her teeth didn't puncture the fabric, nor my skin thankfully. Neither did her claws, which swiped downwards along my back, attempting to tear me to shreds as she must have the other girl. Recognizing the cloak as my only protection I attempted to curl into a ball, but the wolf refused to let that happen. She clamped her teeth around my neck again and shook me, side to side like a ragdoll. My arms flailed out from under my body and my hand stung as I sliced myself on the broken bottle of wine. Cutting myself more as I attempted to grab the bottle by the neck, I finally found a grip and swung the glass backwards with all I had. The angle meant there wasn't much force, but still I felt as the bottle embedded itself in the wolf's side. She stopped shaking me and stepped off my back, attempting to dislodge the half broken bottle now sticking out of her side. Based on the warnings Ruth had given me, any weapon not silver meant that as soon as she had the glass out, her wounds 46

would heal, and no damage would be left. Scrambling while she was distracted, I pawed the ground, hoping I'd find the bread. I heard the clink of the bottle hitting the ground and rolling into what ice was left on the creek as my hand closed around an end of the bread loaf. Her weight hit my back again, as this time her jaws clamped down on my arm. I screamed at the pain, feeling her teeth sink past the meat of my arm and graze bone. The feeling was excruciating. Reaching with my left hand I grabbed the bread again and dug my fingers in. Pulling towards me, trying to scrape the last of the bread off, my hand met leather and cool metal. She was still gnawing on my right arm, outstretched over my head and hadn't noticed. My vision began to cloud, blood loss and pain cutting through my adrenaline. Gripping the hilt, focusing on the feel of the knife, I shifted under her weight. Inhale, exhale. Swing. The blade impaled the beast right through her left eye, embedded into her brain. Jaws unclenched as the body went limp and collapsed atop me. Breathing hard, my vision began to black as I heard shouts and running feet come charging towards us. ~ Standing in the cabin, I glanced down at my now old and scarred arm. Bones had had to be reset, stitches and bandages to try to put my skin back together. I'd almost died from infection during the healing process, had spent many months delirious from the fevers. The hunters had come right after I'd killed the loup garou. While I struggled to heal and survive infection, they'd treated the cowl they'd given me and left it behind. Still wet with my blood and the loup garou's when they'd done so, the cowl had stained red. As Ruth told me, the chemicals don't let anything that's in it out. The fabric retained that dark red color today, years later in this cabin. Listening to the howls outside the door, and the thuds of furred bodies hitting the door, I smiled. The loup garou, when in wolf form, lives for the hunt. They feed not only on their victims but the terror they instill in them. I may die tonight, the door may break down, but I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of scaring me, like the little girl in the old fairytale had been. Looking out the window at brightening sky, I thought of that old tale again. How the huntsman had saved the girl, and killed the wolf. This could be true in a way now, as it hadn't been then. I had become a hunter, and I'd saved myself. Catching movement in the trees beyond the wolves, then more movement a few yards away, I smiled again. Because this time the tale would be true. The huntsman would come to the woods, to a cabin where the wolf wanted to eat the old woman, and then save the day. How did I know this? Because I was still bait.

Crimson Tide S. L. Schultz

The “rock star” tattoo says it all. She should be happy to have him he thinks, real fuckin’ happy. She’s nineteen. He’s not, but on the other side of thirty, half of which he spent behind locks and bars. She utters a few words that incense him. Probably something like, “We need to talk.” The tension implodes, caving his chest, lifting his shoulders, jutting his head forward. In a flash, she’s pinned against the counter in a corner by the stove. His teeth grind, as the energy readies to explode now, her face grimaced into sorrow mixed with fear. Her brain peddles through regrets: Why didn’t I stay with baby daddy? Why didn’t I read the signs more closely? Her name boldly tattooed across his throat, the word “trash” training up his side, and yes, “rock star” across the gland beneath his ear. Then the one question most perverse: Why couldn’t I love him enough to break him? Pinned against the counter, his weight, a boulder, his low words laced with spittle, her face turns crimson, splashed with tears. Meanwhile, one child, so small, white and bare scoots through the kitchen at their feet. With chin raised, her mouth opens into high pitched squeals, so sharp, the dog next door begins to howl. “Shut up, shut up,” he hisses as the dark glass of violence breaks. The child’s feet will not be cut, but her heart will be drawn and quartered, the safety zone destroyed. She entwines herself in her momma’s legs, tiny hands grasping, tiny feet stomping. With a simple swing of a leg he clears her and returns to the task at hand. I’m the man. I’m the man. His ink shadows like warrior paint, as his full weight rests against her. His forearm lodges against her windpipe, the crimson blood now pooling into bruise. The little one runs in circles, pulling frantically at her yellow curls, screaming, “Mommy, mommy,” as a friend somehow, somewhere picks up a phone and dials. Hours later, after the snapshots of wounds, the jotting down of facts, she sits on the sofa, both of her young children nestled up against her. She quietly smokes, fighting to quell the shakes, traces of light orange vomit crusted in the corner of her mouth. Gazing off now, worry lines etch a sketch. The vision of him cuffed and hauled away evokes a twist of mixed emotions. Meanwhile, in another part of town, any town, a bare-breasted woman bursts through the door-wall screen screaming, “Help me god! Help me god!” frantic for her life. Six men from surrounding condos awakened by the call, rush out to meet her. One gives her the shirt off his back. One encloses her in a muscled arm. One points a gun, the silver sides glistening in the moonlight, and yells, “Halt!” The man, presumably the perpetrator scurries like a rat into the shadow between two walls. The man with the gun yells, “Halt, or I will kill ya.” He clicks the safety off. She falls to her knees sobbing now, as her saviors circle her to form an impenetrable wall. Who’s the rock star now? 48

untitled.

Laura Stern people say that

generation

will never know just how much those that came before sacrificed. and while i do /understand/ that perhaps some young LGBT people are (admittedly) oblivious i think that

are not given enough credit. i do

/readily/

admit

that i (thankfully) did not experience this world during the

/worst/

of the AIDS crisis, but who could forget. yes 49

we havenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t watched the vast majority of our friends neighbors sisters brothers /lovers/ wilt && perish. i /cry/ when i look at the AIDS quilt. i have not lost anyone to AIDS. i hope i never will. but i have lost friends i have lost so many friends. 1.my best friend. 2.a former partner. 3.a classmate. and countless others all to suicide, because 50

1.he was gay and his father beat him and raped him for it. (yeah, thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll /definitely/

make him straight)

2.he was trans and he was never able to

/fix/

himself (in his eyes).

3.she was queer and she turned to drugs and drink and razors which /never/ seemed to make a difference. sheneverrecovered. so yes while we have not encountered (some) of the problems from the past we

/do/

have our own

epidemic. we will /never/ forget your sacrifice. but we still have work to do.

Sweatpants

Victoria Alicea-Price My great grandfather passed away at the young age of ninety-one. He was an amazing man who brought so much joy to our family. He was always well dressed and had a fragrance of men’s cologne that lingered from his body. His name was Baldomero Alicea, but everyone knew him as papi. When he left us, my grandmother, his daughter, went through his belongings; some were donated and some distributed to family members. Days later she asked me to come over and she gave me a pair of his sweatpants. These sweatpants were not just any sweatpants; you see, the last months of his life he was not able to dress in his Sunday’s best but rather in comfy clothes. My great grandfather was special; he moved to Lansing, Michigan from Puerto Rico after my grandmother moved her children including my mother to Lansing, Michigan. He wanted to be close to his daughter and her children. He knew no English but made it through the best way he knew how. His ability to speak nothing but Spanish was a great benefit to his grandchildren, great grandchildren and even great great grandchildren. This gave us the ability to work on our Spanish even though so many of use tried to steer clear from speaking it. With papi around we had no choice but to become bilingual. Papi was a religious man, a hard core catholic who prayed the rosary multiple times a day. He was very involved in his church, and I could feel the love of God in my soul if I were near him. He had a warm feeling about him. His bedroom was like a little church. He had candles burning, photos of saints, prayer cards, rosaries, and statues that filled his room. I felt safe in there. He was also my safe haven. I would sit next him on the couch and snuggle up to him; his warmth was comforting and peaceful. He never had a bad day, and I can never remember a moment when he was upset or mad. He did however have a sense of humor that would make us all laugh but my grandmother not so much. When Papi was unable to live on his own he went to live with my grandmother so that she could care for him. They fought like cats and dogs. You would have thought they were a married couple instead of father and daughter. Papi would purposely do things to get under my grandmother’s skin. I remember him sitting at the kitchen table to get his blood checked. Papi was diabetic. He would take things my grandmother needed and purposely hide them than put them back on the table. As soon as she noticed he was doing it, she would fuss at him and would make faces at her when she turned around. I honestly think he did it to amuse us. He loved to make us giggle, even if it got him in trouble. I remember the day I received the phone call that he had passed away. I was sitting in my living room watching TV; it was a day after I saw him and was able to give him a kiss and tell him that I loved him. He was at peace; he lived a long and fun life. Having the ability to tell him goodbye gave me peace with the thought of not seeing him again. He may be gone, but when I wear his sweatpants, I feel the comfort I did when I would snuggle up to him on the couch. He is always with me, and I know one day I will see him again. 52

Three Pieces Michael Gerard

The Very First Laugh in Human History The sound of laughter As I brush hair from her face Naked, we dive in Angel Spotting I can always tell when it’s an angel. He responded to my Craigslist ad immediately with a very formal letter that included a greeting, a well-written paragraph, and a nice closing. No one does that on Craigslist. He showed up on time and since I live in Ann Arbor, the guy--I mean angel--had on U of M clothes. Everything: hat, jacket, hoodie. He was all blue and maize. I thought the Lord would be more creative, but that was a nice touch. I knew right away that the jacket was hiding his wings because while he was a big guy, the jacket hiding the wings made him look enormous like some WWF wrestler trying to get into a size too small. Gabe — that was his name by the way (God, can’t you train your guys to be less conspicuous?!) — had a winning smile and a kind of warm Santa Claus face when Santa was in his late forties. Yeah, I needed the money to pay some bills, and Gabriel did not try to talk me down on the price. He gave me my full asking price: $325 for a nice bass guitar with a hard-shell case. Had I asked him for $50 more, I think he would have cleaned out his wallet for me. He said that he sometimes works at a recording studio and knew the guitarist from the heavy metal band Heaven’s Wish. Jeez! I thanked him, we said our good-byes, and as he drove away, I spotted the bumper sticker that advertised Paradise Recording Studio in Canton. God, you have got to do better than that! Angels these days are so easy to spot. Microbrewery (Microbreweries. Popping up all over. Patron walks into a restaurant. Sits down at the bar.) Bar Owner: (Wiping down the bar top.) Hey. Good afternoon. Patron: Hi. (Looks at a menu.) Owner: We now serve our own beer. Would you like to try one?

Patron: I didn’t know you had a microbrewery. Owner: Sure do. Here it is inside this box. It’s made by ants. They are making an IPA called Thoraxensation. Would you like to try some? Patron: Ants!?!? How?! What the . . .?! Owner: Wait. Let me get you a sample. (Quickly turns around. Turns back with a shot glass full of Thoraxensation.) Here you go, sir. Enjoy. Took ‘em three weeks. Patron: What? Owner: To make this. (Points at the shot glass.) Patron: (Picks up the shot glass. Looks at it with great suspicion.) Ants? Owner: Hard workers those buggers. Patron: (Takes a sip. Spits it out.) This tastes like crap!!! Owner: I know. Still working out the kinks. (Quickly turns around. Turns back with a shot glass full of something else.) Ok. Try this. Made by bats. It’s our wheat beer called Blonde Guano. Patron: Good day, sir. (Exits.)

But We Remained! Ahmed Oudeif Introduction This story is based on the biography of a former Moroccan military officer named Ahmed Almarzouki. Facts are collected from a series of interviews as well as book titled Tazmamart Cellule 10, written by Mr. Almarzouki himself. He was involved in a 1971 coup that took place in Skhirat Palace during the days of King Hassan II of Morocco. In this biography, he briefly talks about the senior officers responsible for the attempt and then talks broadly about the attempt itself. The rest of the book talks about Ahmedâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s time in the prison of Tazmamart, which almost seems as if it were a figment of imagination. In this story, I will be using the first-person narrative, as if it is Mr. Almarzouki who is speaking. Background I come from a small village called Bouajoul, in the north west of Fez city. I was born the fifth of nine children in 1947, to an educated father who always encouraged us to pursue education. Being an Imam of the masjid, he was a bit religious, and tried to instill in us the love of Islam. I went to the same school in which my brother in law was a teacher. I remember him being a patriotic man, who always encouraged us, students, to serve our country. Thus, the sons of my village played a major role in fighting our war of independence. Growing up in such environment motivated many of my peers and me to dedicate our lives for the good of our nation. In order to complete my secondary education, I had to move a lot between cities, and live with different people. Having to move many times in a short period of time had a negative impact on my education. I was enrolled in the Royal Military Academy in the year of 1967. I graduated in 1969 with the rank of a second lieutenant and served for about a year. I then served as an instructor in Ahermoumou Military Non-Commissioned Officer Training School starting in 1970. It was about 60 km to the east of Fez. This school was an exemplary military school, thanks to the Colonial M'hamed Ababou, who was its director. M'hamed Ababou, who was a military major upon my arrival to Ahermoumou School, was one of the most legendary officers in the entire Moroccan military. His competency has lead him to becoming one of the most well-known officers in the country. My claim is supported by the fact that he was involved in the preparation of most military exercises and war games. Ababou was a very firm director, and no mistake would go unpunished under his watch. Both his students and officers feared him. Before he was sent to Ahermoumou School, it was missing many necessary facilities. He turned the school into a hard labor camp, where construction work was constant. Different platoons would be exchanging shifts, where each platoon would serve for four hours a day. Ababouâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s effort in regards to developing the school was found impressive by all the delegated whom paid it a visit. 55

In its prime, Ahermoumou School was competing with the Royal Military School, which was the major military school in the country. One of the things accomplished was developing training routes to outperform those established by our Iranian allies at the time. Also, we had many laboratories and lecture halls where we learned advanced English and Spanish among other subjects. Thus, they were available for both the students and officers. Major Ababou at the time had very good relationships with most army commanders, including the major general at the time. This allowed him to obtain special privileges that assisted him in accomplishing unmatched achievements at a very young age. At the age of only 33, Ababou was promoted to the rank of a colonel. He was the youngest serving officer with that rank in the entire Royal Army. For this occasion, a big celebration was held in our school. Another officer involved in the coup we will later talk about was General Mohamed Medbouh. He was a well-known senior officer, and one of the most honest and loyal officers in the entire army. In one of his visits to the United States, he met an American governmental official who revealed to him the size of corruption in the Moroccan government. Upon his return to Morocco, general Medbouh confronted the king with numbers and documents revealing the size of the corruption. The king promised to take the issue into consideration, but he never did so. It was clear to the king that the general now had the power to question him, while the general started feeling threatened. It was only a matter of time before the clash would occur. General Medbouh was not the only person who was aware of the state of corruption that the country has reached. Every officer was the sole ruler of his unit, and only few of them were innocent of misconduct. The whole political environment was unstable. It was quite predictable that a major event was on its way to happen. First Attempt There was an attempt that preceded the Skhirat coup. It was towards the end of the school year, in May 14th of 1971. Ababou was able to convince us that we were going to be part of a big military exercise, and that we had to be well prepared and show our best abilities. This attempt was called off by general Medbouh in the last minute, as he felt that some participants in the exercise were getting suspicious. In this attempt, just like it successor, the unit involved was not informed of the nature of its mission. During the trials, we found out that the actual mission of this unit was to ambush a royal motorcade that was passing close by. Our school programs ended before the usual date, but colonel Ababou had to find a reason to keep us in the school. The â&#x20AC;&#x153;military day,â&#x20AC;? which is the anniversary of the establishment of the royal army, was coming close. This was an appropriate excuse for the colonel to extend our stay in the academy, as we were obligated to prepare for the celebration that would take place in that day. No one in the academy knew what was waiting for him. We were all getting ready for our summer break.

The Coup On the evening of July 8th of 1971, one day before the coup attempt, a convoy of military vehicles arrived at the academy. We were ordered to form 15 units of 40 students led by an officer and a petty officer. An additional special unit was formed, and consisted of only officers and petty officers. One unusual event was that we were given live ammo to use in a supposed military exercise. This raised some questions in our minds, as we had first year students who were never trained on using live ammo. During that evening, we were handed out unusually large amounts of canned food. The colonel arrived to the school with another man wearing civilian attire. The units were formed as assigned and we were ordered to enter the vehicles, as a form of a test. It was a majestic scene, as if war drums were sounded. The colonel then gave a brief speech thanking us for our efforts. He also pointed out that we were starting a two day mission on the following day. According to him, this mission was classified, and it was originally planned to be completed by an elite unit. Hence, we had to show our best in completing it. It is worth pointing out that he gave anyone unwilling to participate the option to leave. It was very strange for a military officer to make such an offer, as we were trained to strictly follow orders. When asked about the nature of the mission, the colonel answered by saying, “I don’t know much more than what you know.” Ambiguity filled the place! We later learned that the shorter civilian who accompanied colonel Ababou was actually his older brother, Mohamed Ababou, an officer in the military carrying the same rank as his brother. In the officers’ club, we sat around our tables, and each person allowed his imagination to wander around. During that time, the military reflected the state of the streets. Some officers were pro-monarchy and others were anti-monarchy, while the rest were on the fence. I remember the laughs getting loud as officers started mocking a man who predicted a coup attempt. The original plan was to start moving on the following morning at 2:00 am, but some obstacles delayed us for two hours. After long hours of driving, we met director Ababou, accompanied by his older brother and a group of supreme military officers. The director allowed for a short break, then gave brief details about the mission. He said that we were on our way to surround a group of rebels in a village called Skhirat. He then said that we were officers and we must understand! More questions arose in our minds. As military officers, we learned that an operation must be thoroughly planned before it starts. Nothing made sense, and the words of the colonial kept ringing bells in our minds. We were then divided into two convoys, each was led by one of the Ababou brothers. Each group proceeded to its assigned route. Director Ababou entered what turned out to be Skhirat palace through its south gate. The guards were taken by surprise, and no real resistance faced the attackers. The first bullet that was fired that day was from a pistol of one of the guards pointed towards the director’s arm. This whole thing could’ve ended if the lieutenant who fired that bullet would’ve been more accurate. But his courageous attempt costed him his life. The older Ababou entered through the northern gates with nearly no resistance as well. 57

The unit that I was leading was about ten minutes late due to a vehicle damage. The units that entered the gates of the palace before our arrival were given the orders to open fire. The students jumped off their vehicles, and started randomly shooting at everything. The scene got extremely chaotic. Until this point, we did not know what we were involved in. We did not know what we were firing at, or whom we were supposed to target. “What kind of mission is this?” I asked myself. I have never heard of such military operation, or even exercise. Everything was happening with astonishing speed, faster than our ability to comprehend the situation. When students were given the order to fire, it seemed as if monsters within them were unleashed, as if each one of them was trying to empty his magazine as fast as possible in order to please his leaders. Attempts of officers and petty officers to restore order were hopeless. Like birds attempting to flee from a firm track prepared by an experienced hunter, the palace attendees tried desperately to run for their lives. Bullets were raining from nozzles to form a heavy stream that destroyed everything on its way. Adding to the confusion of the scene, director Ababou would shout at the soldiers saying, “Long live the king; kill the traitors!” The storm started fading when crowds of captives started arriving with their hands held high, like a group of sheep being led to the unknown. Director Ababou ordered his students to enter the palace. Their feelings were lit like a fire with oil being spilled on it as they saw the astonishing scene of a green golf course mixing with that of the endless blue ocean. A beautiful huge gazebo was standing close by luxurious swimming pools and beautiful buildings. Appetizing feasts were filled with delicious dishes of many shapes and colors. Students were fraught with anger and disgust. “How could they live in paradise while we eat the cheapest of food?” they thought. The students got more furious. Some were shooting at the food tables, while others were searching rooms for more hostages. They captured anyone alive while shooting down those trying to flee. No one was ready for such a disaster. It was as if everyone was drugged, yet with no drugs. It seemed like students finally had the chance to unleash the hatred buried deep down in their hearts. In the middle of this scene, with the air filled with the smell of death, a man came walking towards the director. It was General Medbouh, and he appeared with a face full of terror. “What are you doing Ababou? Stop this nightmare!” said the general. “Ok mon general. I completed the first part of the operation, now is your turn.” “I never ordered a blood bath, what is with you Ababou?” exploded the general. “Where is he mon general?” asked the director. “He is in a safe place, and he wants to speak with you,” was the answer. “Did he abdicate the throne?” the director asked again. “Yes, and I have a written proof with me. Let's go see him.” “Let's do it, I will have my men accompany us though,” said the director. “Not a chance, we must go alone,” said the general. Both officers started moving, and Ababou pretended as if he believed the general. “Search everywhere, he must be hiding somewhere inside!” the general ordered the soldiers. An automatic gun emptied its magazine directly after this 58

statement, and the general was instantly killed. To this day, no one knows if the general’s death was meant to be, or if it was just a coincidence. It was a horrific moment. Servants, actors, celebrities, the rich, the poor, the ambassadors and their drivers the doctors and the guards were all sitting beside each other. Statuses were all forgotten in that moment of horror. The fear that a single word, or even a wink, could end someone’s life made everyone anxious. Director Ababou, who was calm throughout the entire operation, started acting like a maniac. He started ordering many senior officers dead, and killing some with his own hands. After failing to find what he came for, director Ababou ordered his brother to stay and continue the search in the palace with the help of a couple of units, and left with the rest of us towards the headquarters of the army in Rabat. He was able to overtake it after a slight conflict. The scene was duplicated when he then moved to seize the radio station. Ababou ordered a statement to be broadcasted, where he claimed that the armed forces had overtaken the government, and asked the citizens to remain calm. The director went back to the headquarters and delivered a speech to the soldiers that gathered in its yard claiming that what was done was for them and for their successors. “No oppression, favoritism or bribery after today,” he stated. “Long live morocco, long live Ababou,” they cheered. The place was starting to get surrounded by a security Brigade led by the major general of the army at the time, Mr. El-Bouhali. Fatigue started appearing on the director’s face after losing a lot of blood due to his injury. But with his well-known boldness, he went out with some of his men to confront the major general who demanded his surrender. After a brief conversation, a few bullets were fired; then, both officers were both seen lying dead. From One Hell to Another It is amazing how one man’s ambition has led to the loss of many lives that would have done much good if left alive. Dozens of students, officers, officials and innocent civilians were killed. A day of hell finally ended for many people. For us, hell was yet to begin. All because we were foolish enough to do what we were trained to do. All because we followed orders. Hundreds of students and officers were shot dead in an unmatched massacre upon surrendering outside the headquarters. Many of those who lived wished they were among the deceased. Months and months of starvation, torture and pain were followed by the trials. Sentences varied from one person to another, for no obvious reason. I guess some had more luck than others. I was sentenced to five years in prison. After spending two years in prison, we were kidnapped and thrown to a new place. The least I could say about that place is that it was a piece of hell. It was Tazmamart prison. For the following eighteen years, each one of us sent to this prison was locked in a two and a half by three meters cell. For 6550 days, I did not see light, and I thought I would never see it again. For 6550 nights, I had to sleep on a concrete 59

bed that froze in the winter nights and boiled in the flaming summer days. With barely any food and drink, we were turned into moving skeletons in no time. This place was designed to kill us in the slowest possible way. But we survived, and remained witnesses of the cruelty and injustice that we faced due to a guilt we did not commit.

A Proven Theory Alissa Turner

I am SO tired of it. SO tired of my friends, my friends’ friends, and my family disappearing. No one that’s still here knows what’s going on, but we’re all worried about it. Some have lost more of their kind than others have, but we’re all hurting for each other. Well, all of us besides the ones that don’t believe yet. What I mean by don’t believe is - believe in our theory. We have a theory of what might be happening. It’s a story that’s passed on from box to box. This story is called “The Story of the Big Mouths.” The story says that the reason we disappear is due to them – the big mouths. That the mouths devour us effortlessly. Not only effortlessly, but they actually enjoy it! They enjoy eating us! I mean, who would eat cereal?! I’m not sure if I believe the theory, but I might be starting to. Nothing else makes sense. So how is this any crazier than the other theories? Besides, some say they’ve witnessed the mouths! Although, the ones that say it are the stale ones, and they’re kind of shunned by all boxes, so no one’s sure what to believe. Some of us put a group together to try to figure out what might be going on, but the boxes that haven’t lost many say that there’s no point in crying over spilt milk. No one knows what that means but everyone says it. Anyway, I can’t honestly understand how they can be so selfish! Some cereals have surprising pieces, but honestly, Life is full of surprises. So, we still meet despite what they say because we have to fight for those who can’t! I remember the first time that I lost someone. It was one of my many sisters. We were very close. We were more towards the top of our box. Suddenly, we had a terrible thing happen. Our box was moved and lifted out of the city we call Cabinet! When we moved, I shifted a tiny bit lower than before, but my sister moved towards the top! All I heard were the screams and then, silence. The crazy thing is that hardly anyone remembers what the rest of us are left trying to forget! I could never forget it because, honey, it was nuts! It was the scariest moment of my life and knowing that hardly anyone remembers makes it one of the saddest parts. This was what caused me to realize that “The Story of the Big Mouths” could be true. It began to convince me because the moving and lifting had once been just a story too! Now I had personally experienced that. We, the ones that remembered, tried to convince the others for a long time but they just called us all Fruitloops. *Box begins to shake* OH NO. IT’S HAPPENING AGAIN. The box! It’s shifting and lifting and- PLOP. AH! What is going on?! Where am I? Woah! This white liquid I am floating in is cold! Why aren’t I touching the others here as much now? Someone please tell me what’s going on! Someone yells out, “The story! ‘The Story of the Big Mouths’- it’s true! What do we do? How do we stop this?” Then someone else yelled out, “I don’t know! How do we fight something so big?” But I didn’t hear the rest because I was lifted out with a few others onto this smaller, shiny thing that the Big Mouth was holding. Oh No! Stop! Please don’t… 61

Wait, this is fun! This is actually like a ride! In this moment, I knew that this was my turn to disappear. At least I knew that the story was right. Although, even more importantly, I knew that every piece of cereal that left would be ending their Life in a good way. In a ride that they wouldn’t forget. Oh, apparently, they’d be ending it with a Snap! Crackle Pop! too, because that’s what I hear as I’m entering the dark, big mouth. SNAP. CRACKLE. POP.

Requesting Advice from an Author Karen Gilbert

Imagine a red-haired mom in her forties on a breezy summer afternoon reading to a rapt, curly haired, blond four year old. They moved to America only a few years before and were still getting used to the customs here. Birds were singing, and the leaves rustled softly in the warm wind. It was a favorite book for both of them, with a well-worn cover and a few tattered pages. The author was H.C. Andersen, the edition from 1921 complete with gorgeous, detailed, delicately hued illustrations with tissue paper overleaf. Yes, I still have the book. The reading was in Danish and the child, me, soaked it up. This was a favorite activity….reading and talking over the stories and the pictures. Those long summer afternoons were glorious, cementing not only the mother child bond, but my love of literature, language and culture, especially Danish. HC Anderson is a Danish author, born in 1805. He lived and worked in Odense, on the central island of Fyn, a picturesque town, with a shallow harbor. Ships head to the Norwegian coastal fishing waters, also other ports along the Danish mainland and other islands. The town itself still has the multicolored timbered houses with slate roofs, which line the cobblestone streets. The trolleys and horse-drawn carriages clattered amongst the free roaming fowl. There were outdoor markets periodically, with a generous variety of colorful fresh fruit, vegetables, and flowers. HC Andersen is still widely read, and has been translated into more than 125 languages. Most American children know only some of the more famous stories: The Little Mermaid, and The Princess and the Pea; but there are many more. He is still well loved in Denmark, and there are many statues of him all over the country. There is a famous statue of the Little Mermaid in the Copenhagen harbor. Long ago in this land far away, the kindly older gentleman looked up from his desk; both he and the desk had an aura of a busy, productive life. His office was a little musty and was filled with books and loose papers. The fireplace housed several small logs which burned cheerily. An orange cat sat in the window looking out over the town and water. “May I help you?” he asked in sort of a strange language. “Well, I’d like to ask you about your writing,” I answered shyly. “Ah, Englesk,” he responded. “Ok, what would you like to know about? “Please tell me first how you came to be a writer.” He explained that he loved to read, and the stories came to him as he walked around the city and surrounding countryside. “Would you help me with my writing?” I felt so brave in asking. “Yes, of course; but first tell me a little about yourself,” he responded generously. I explained that my mom was also Danish, and we had read most of his stories when I was a child. I admired his ability to spark the imagination, conveying also so much emotion. Yes, this was Mr. Andersen I was visiting. We spent a long afternoon talking about writing. Then he asked me if I’d like to join him for his walk. I was astonished and eagerly accepted his offer. It was during this walk I asked him how I could contact him when I wanted his advice. “By thinking about me and that you would really like some help, then ideas will come,” he responded in his sweet Danish accent. 63

The area we walked through was an old growth forest, soon we came to a play area with many children. One friendly looking small girl came up to us and noticed that we were speaking English. “Are you not friizing?” she asked. It took me awhile to realize she meant freezing, since it was chilly. We talked awhile more and started walking back. That morning it was difficult to wake up, such a delightful dream…

Expectations Standup for yourself

Tara E. Fraley

Don’t talk back

Be aware of your surroundings Don’t live in fear

Be accepting of others Don’t give in to peer pressure

Eat until you’re full Don’t be a pig

Be confident Don’t be cocky

Be yourself Do not boast

Be independent Don’t shut people out

Dress nicely Be comfortable in your own skin

Listen to others Listen to yourself “It’s not that hard, why can’t you just be yourself?

Cattails Steven St. John “I wake up and I find myself underwater. Like, I’m not in the ocean, or a pond, or a pool or anything like that. I’m just in this black space. There’s no bubbles, or fish or little reflections in the water or nothing. It’s just me and this crystal-clear blackness. And it goes on forever and ever and ever.” Paul reclined in his leather therapist’s chair; his fingers were hammocked between his hands and supporting the back of his sandy blonde head. Paul cleared his sinuses and un-joined his fingers, placing his hands on the leather blue armrests and shuffling himself forward. He pushed his tortoise frames back up his nose and said, “Please Gary, about your dream. Go ahead.” Gary reached up and fingered a scaly red patch through the wiry beard on his neck. “So like, I’m in this strange black underwater world, but it’s not completely black, cause I can, like, see myself.” Paul leaned forward in his chair and placed his elbows on his knees. He rejoined his hands together in front of himself now, re-threading his first three fingers and joining his index digits into a steeple. He perched his nose on the tip and supported his chin with his thumbs as he squinted. Paul referred to this position as his “tripod of concern.” “So I’m floating right, and there’s blackness forever, and it’s just me.” Gary adjusted his wooly cap, scratched himself again, and made a cough in a fist. A beefy soup-smell filled the room as Paul adjusted the tips of the steeple to block his sinuses. Gary continued, “All of the sudden, I see something far off. It’s so small it seems like nothing at first, like, a tiny speck. But I get this feeling man. I get this feeling of dread. Then I realize that the speck is getting bigger. It’s expanding.” “Mmmhmmm,” Paul hummed as felt the desire to doze off. Instinctually, his eyes shot to the empty space next to the tissue box where the portrait used to rest. He immediately filled with regret. Attempting to ignore the impulse to nervously twist his wedding ring, he chose to focus beyond the missing photo and through the window to outside. There was an old marsh across the field just before the highway. He had never before noticed that cattails were growing along the waterline. “Then I start to really feel this sense of overwhelming panic, ‘cause, like this thing is growing larger and I try to swim away, but I realize that this monster is friggen huge! Like, it’s so big that I can’t even see around it anymore. Even worse, I notice that the light that I can see with is actually coming from me, so I’m like, glowing live bait!” Paul was amazed that he never spotted the cattails on the edge of the swamp. Had they always been there? Of course they had been. How unobservant had he been through all of this? He shifted his attention to the square box of tissues on the bookcase. He figured Gary was going to need them shortly. 66

“Now here’s the worst part. While I’m thrashing away, suffocating, and glowing, I somehow know that the monster has its jaws open, closing around me, swallowing me up! The light is fading away, and I can’t move, and I can't breathe, and I want to scream but I can’t! All I feel is absolute terror.” Paul ungrouped his fingers and began to slightly reach for the tissues. “Then what happens?” “I wake up.” Gary lifted his hands and slapped them down on his legs, straightening his posture. “Sweating balls, sometimes screaming. I don’t go back to sleep. And the problem is Paul, that feeling I wake up with, it don’t go away for a while. Sometimes it lasts all day. Like, it seems like my whole body wants to scream and cry!” “I see.” Paul returned his hands to the previous position, this time fully weaving his index fingers in with the rest of the digits and resting his chin on the knuckles. He referred to this position as the “tortoise of understanding.” As Paul leaned forward into this position, he couldn’t help but stare back towards the cattails. The vision of them began to sadden him. Gary proceeded, “And it’s not like I want to kill myself…. but if I could at the moment…. If I could just close my eyes and fucking die you know?” Gary trailed off a bit, noticing Paul’s averted stare. “You paying attention? I’m pouring my heart out here.” Paul snapped back into the conversation, a little annoyed. He pulled his hands apart and crossed them over his chest. “I’m sorry, please continue.” “Well, I guess that's it. That’s all…. I feel like I want to die. And I need your help,” Gary said, leaning forward conspicuously, lowering his voice. “Listen ok, I tried taking the psych meds the doctor prescribed me, but they don’t work.” “And what exactly would you like me to do?” Paul questioned. “Well I was thinking maybe you could help prescribe me some different meds my doctor won’t. Like Xanax, or Valium, or like maybe even Vicodin or something…” Paul rolled his eyes, “Gary…” “Or maybe like medical marijuana. I know that helps some people with depression. They got dispensaries…” Paul interrupted sternly. “Gary. You have a serious record of drug abuse. You cannot be prescribed these substances.” Gary became increasingly animated, spitting out his words. “Right but that was back when I was younger and reckless. Now I would only use it when I need it, like when things get too much to bear, or when I wake up and can’t fall back asleep. You know maybe something just to knock me out and and jump me forward like a time machine or something!” “Gary. I’m a Psychologist not a Psychiatrist!” Paul threw his hands in the air in frustration. “I can’t even write you a prescription for these things! And even if I could I couldn’t knowingly do so given your medical history.”

Gary slammed the armrests of the leather chair in an explosion, “Then what the FUCK doYOU think I should do!” “You have to learn a healthy way to deal with these issues, Gary. We all have to learn healthy ways to move on from our problems!” Paul felt his voice shaking uncontrollably. “We! What the fuck do you mean by WE!” Gary sprung to his feet. “What the hell do you know about suffering? What the hell do you know about pain? You have this nice office with these leather chairs, and then get to go home in your Mercedes! Aside from some text you read in a book, or some fucking voyeuristic account of someone like me who has real fucking problems, what the fuck do you know?!” Paul felt his face becoming flushed. He took a deep breath. His eyes darted to the missing the picture, then to his left ring finger, and then out to the cattails. He felt his insides begin to twist. Gary was beating his chest wildly. “I have to be at home alone every single night going through this shit with these nightmares! By myself! MY-SELF! What the FUCK do you know about loneliness you married motherfu…” Gary stopped speaking and paused for a moment, his brow furrowed with confusion. He pointed down to Paul’s left hand. Paul sat in his chair, fingers sunk in the leathery blue armrests as he did so, slightly twitching, jaw clenched, eyes bloodshot red and still focused out on the swamp. Gary was looking at the exposed tan-line on Paul’s quivering left ring finger. “Wait, what happened to your ring… did you lose it or something? I can help you look for it if you need.” Gary, immediately apologetic of his outburst, began pivoting his head in a sweeping pattern around the floor as he dropped to a knee. Paul clenched his armrests and tried very hard to speak calmly, but his voice tremored. “No…. Please… Don't worry. It isn’t lost. I got rid of it. Please. Just sit down.” Gary cautiously lowered into his seat, his tone shifted. “Got rid of it? So wait…. Does that mean… that you and the lady, like, divorced?” Gary looked about the room, attempting to calculate the situation. “I had no idea you were having problems at home. I mean, how the hell would I know, right? Not like I’m here to ask you questions. Holy shit! Even the picture on the bookcase is gone.” Gary looked about in disbelief, “That's crazy who woulda thought that a guy who’s trained in relationships....” “It… wasn’t… a… divorce.” Paul said slow and hesitantly, almost like he was admitting guilt. He could feel a significant heat coming off his face. The steam on his glasses blurred the cattails. Gary tilted his head and scrunched his face in thought. You could see his eyes darting back and forth, putting together the pieces. Then, his face drooped. “Oh my god… Oh… oh my god.” Gary said, slowly and painfully. Gary looked down at the floor. A silence filled the room for a moment. Gary’s eyes were on the floor; Paul’s were on the cattails. Gary took off his skullcap and fingered his hair in disbelief. “Wow. I can’t believe… I mean I just…” He placed his elbows on his thighs

and exhaled into the space between his legs. Gary searched for something to say in the silence as he stared into the fibers of the grey carpet. “How did it… when did it… ” “Car accident. It’s… been a while now. A long while,” Paul replied. Gary spoke, slowly shaking his head. “That means you’ve been just coming to work and carrying on like it’s no big deal. Almost pretending like she’s…” He stopped himself, then continued, “And here I am, falling apart at the seams for nothing, complaining to you about my bullshit, while you’re going through that. How have you… why…I can’t… I just can’t…” “It’s ok,” Paul reassured, solemnly. “Like I said; we all have to learn healthy ways to move on from our problems.” Gary turned deep red and lifted his hands to his face. His shoulders bobbed up and down as he sobbed into his palms. “Wow Paul. I’m sorry. I’m just. So… So… Sorry.” Paul reached over to the bookcase and grabbed the square cardboard box of tissues and extended them across the office to Gary. Gary grabbed handfuls of tissues and exhausted them into little soggy balls, tossing them into the waste bin. Paul held the square box and kept repeating, “It’s ok,” until the bell on his wristwatch beeped. “I don’t mean to cut this short Gary, but our time is up.” Gary took a deep breath and dragged his hands down over his face, wiping off the residual tears. He exhaled again into the carpet, and lifted his head with a tiny smile on it. “You know what Paul. I think I’m going to be ok. I really think I will be.” “I’m glad to hear that, Gary.” Gary stood up, grasped his skullcap from the chair and pulled it back over his head with both hands. He checked his pockets and carefully walked towards the door. Before Gary closed it, he snuck his head back in. “Hey, Paul.” “Yes, Gary.” “Thank you for that.” Paul lightly nodded as the door clicked shut. He took a deep breath and pulled his feet up onto the chair, tightly wrapping his arms around his knees. His eyes looked at the empty space on the bookcase, then at the empty space on his finger, and then began to fill with tears as they carried off to the cattails in the distance.

Three Pieces Robert Hurse Sassy Ass

They just oozed sex appeal, they were so brash. Yet, they were so warm to the touch. Hardware that screamed luxurious, dipped in gold. The seams so elegant and soft, which could pass as lace etched in gold also. Oh, Girl! I exclaimed – Wait till I get my fine ass up in here! I shouted to my girl, Kate. In my hearts of hearts, I knew it. I knew, these were the ones. These were “the get ‘em girl jeans,” the jeans you knew were going to go to time and time again. These jeans, firm and cupped to my ass like a second skin, we’re an investment in me. Plus, all in all- They were red. Here I come, me – stumbling my ass up to the door. Who is sitting on the couch? Gene, its 12:30AM, Wednesday night. Take your ass home. He was my mom’s boyfriend. I couldn’t stand him. “Where were you at tonight?” He said grinning over a pint of ice cream. “Studying,” I replied quickly. He laughed and sat his ice cream down and looked at me with awkward, judgmental eyes, fatherly eyes – which he wasn’t. He said, “Oh, like that?” What does he mean “like that?” is it because I have my sassy ass red pants on and my shirt looks like I have been mauled by a pack of wild animals. Man, I couldn’t help myself. I mean after all, I was in sassy red pants. I felt my weight shift to the side, hand on my hip and I spat out, “What the fuck you mean?” followed by some boyishly-mocking giggles. Before he could even answer, I was already following up on him. I usually didn’t give a damn, but tonight I felt sassy. I had to let him know, I didn’t really care for whatever the hell it was he did mean; I really didn’t care to hear his opinion of me, and then I threw two snaps in the air to seal the deal and off to bed I went. He didn’t say shit the next morning. November 5TH, a few years back. It was a spry young boy’s 18th birthday. Any young fag can tell you that the 18th birthday is it. This is like your moment of honor, you’re going to be in all the circles tonight, you’re going to be the center of attention, 70

you have to own it. It’s basically your one shot to make yourself known as an adult now. You’re no longer a little twink. No longer, the little twink that has to use his older butch dyke cousin’s I.D. to get into the bar. So, you already know the number one, biggest concern of the night is - #WHATTOWEAR. I had no fucking idea. Seriously, literally, done. Shopped and shopped, walked and walked. It took me coming home and sitting in my closet, after buying a bunch of frivolous bullshit. I had the Holy Grail right along. The prefect thing, the go to girls. The “get ‘em girls”, my sassy ass red pants. They’ve never let me down in the past. Honestly, they’re so tight – they look painted on. These are it. The pressure is on go with what you know. My girls couldn’t believe it. Those ol’ girls (the pants), have seen it all they squealed. You know what makes you feel comfortable, what makes you feel amazing. I wore those pants without a shirt. I slayed. Those pants were the life of the party. They were right, they have seen it all. They were in a way my security blanket. I knew them. I just knew these were it, the girl for tonight. Just when I looked in my closet, I felt this sense of righteousness pass over me. They don’t know/understand this long standing love affair I have with these pants. They have a right to attend such a “monumental” moment in my life. “I will simple have to show you girls once again…..” wrestling them off the hanger, stiff as hell from air drying. Sisters without Misters Sisters without Misters.... Because we don't need a man. We don't need a man, to have a plan. We can't stand, can’t stand the idea of needing a man. Needing a man, girl get a plan. Get a plan to get you a man. A man that has his own plan. Because you don't need a man. You can take your own stand. ThenMaybe, A man can become part of the plan. Sisters without Misters. 71

Brown Girl Soup

Brown Girl, Brown Girl, Brown Girl Soup. They don’t understand the makings of you. They don’t understand what’s it’s like to be nappy. They don’t understand what it’s like to be teased about not having a “pappy.” Brown Girl, Brown Girl, Brown Girl soup. They don’t understand how it’s so crappy, To be afraid to go a pool party and being called “ashy.” Brown Girl, Brown Girl, Brown Girl Soup. “You’re cute for a black girl.” – Wow, cool for you… Brown Girl, Brown Girl, Brown Girl Soup. You do understand that you shouldn’t stew. Brown Girl, this makes you uniquely you.

Musical Chairs-Poverty’s Solution Bridget Dewan

It was shamefully silent. The cheerful chatter had ceased. I hadn’t realized the source of the problem until I stood up and saw everyone’s eyes, not on me, but on the legs of the chair. They hadn’t moved as I took the seat with me to the ground. Saying I was mortified is an outrageous understatement. I broke their chair. Someone in that friendly little community was going to be standing for every single meal throughout the rest of his life because I destroyed his only chair. I had left my World, where people cry if they crack their phone case, or feel the need to throw up the food they eat so they don’t gain weight, and entered a heaven of helpless babies and deteriorating grandmas and grandpas. Everything I had known and worried about came to mean nothing after my mission week in the Dominican Republic. It was not the trip that altered my view on life, but my mistake. No matter how many times my parents warned me to be grateful for what I had, or how often I heard countless mainstreamers sing, “You don’t know what you’ve got ‘till it’s gone,” I had still taken my blessings for granted. My egocentric attitude changed the day I broke a white, five-dollar, plastic lawn chair from Wal-Mart. And it wasn’t even mine. On the sixth day of the journey, my work group went out to visit the elderly people of the surrounding communities. It had been an exhausting yet enriching experience. Days filled with chores and small sacrifices to make it easier for those who worked tirelessly for what little they had. As the visits drew to a close, we came to our final stop. There were three houses made of twigs surrounded by a wood fence, settled next to a potato field. It was a peaceful, homey area that was very inviting. The people were just as peaceful and content as the atmosphere. It was all perfect. That is, perfect until the American Sasquatch showed up. Battered chairs and slanted tables were brought out for us to relax while the families to whom they belonged either stood or sat in the dirt. One would think, “Just go borrow some chairs from the neighbors.” They had brought out all of the chairs owned by the entire community, just enough for us guests. After several failed attempts to explain our American games to the surrounding kids, we settled on a game of musical chairs. There wasn’t a radio or any source of music. Someone volunteered to whistle. We were having a great time. It was extremely heartwarming to know that I was the reason the kids were having a blast. We had created a game out of the little we had and it was a wonderful time for everybody, including those of us who came from the culture of the Wii and X-Box. Competition sets me off like a firecracker. I come from a family of five boys and two girls. Even though I was playing against a bunch of starving children who barely understood what was going on, I was determined to be the champion of musical chairs. It came down to the last three—me and two Dominican boys who were about my age. The whistler began and we were off. The two boys were grinning and laughing. My eyes never veered from the pair of chairs. The music stopped and I slid behind one of 73

the boys and into the plastic chair, slyly smiling before a crack sounded and I toppled over. The pleasant chatter and scattered games halted. Everyoneâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eyes were on me. I had got to this place so that I could help makes these peopleâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s lives easier, and I had just broken something that was irreplaceable. I offered money but they politely refused, probably because there was no store within a 30 mile radius. I was instantly embarrassed and pitied myself for having messed up and being publically humiliated. It took a while for me to look at the whole situation in a different light. How selfish of me to be sad and down about something so silly -- something that would not have any effect on the outcome of my life. I became aware that when I make mistakes or bad things happen I immediately close up and feel bad for myself. My perspective on life changed the day I broke the chair. In that moment I realized that plastic chairs, XBoxes, and winning are not what make a happy home; people do.

Adventures of Zack Martino Jones

“Oh yeah! This new game is EPIC! I'm almost on the last level. Then I can face the leader of the alien race and take him out too and save the world! All alien races shall bow to meeeeeee! I'm so glad the store clerk keeps suggesting I play these. I'm almost the top gamer in the country!” Zack said excitedly. It’s Sunday night, Zack is finishing up a marathon of weekend gaming. The school year is coming to an end, so Zack wants to get a head start on his gaming. “Awesome big brother! This game looks so cool; I want to play too. Can I have next? Does this game have two players?” asks Elizabeth with anticipation. “No Elizabeth, not until you finish your homework,” interrupts their mother, Sarah, as she walks by with the laundry. Zack, his sister and mother all live in a small little suburb in a small little city in the middle of America. Zack and his sister never knew their father; he died when they were young. Their father died in a fire at the local news station. An explosion occurred, and by the time the emergency personal arrived, the entire building was up in flames. Zack and his sister weren’t told that part. It didn't bother Zack and his little sister to not have known their father; they remain very cheery children. Zack just had his thirteenth birthday party. He doesn't have a lot of friends; however, he has just enough, and he doesn't have a hard time making new friends. He has learned over time that it’s best to keep a medium size group, about five to seven would do. It’s big enough to have a party, but not too big. He’s also a geek. Zack enjoys video games, comic books, all sorts of science fiction stories and movies. Elizabeth, Zack’s younger sister, is eleven. She looks up to Zack because there isn’t a father figure in the house. Sometimes their mother, even when home, will be too caught up with projects she is doing for work that she relies on Zack to watch Elizabeth and make sure she does her homework. She just started middle school; she's an average grade student but book smart. She loves to read fairytale stories. Elizabeth also likes to play video games with her brother; although, she doesn't get into comic books and other geek culture things like him. Sarah works at a local research facility as a physicist. She makes decent money, but sometimes the hours are brutal; however, the job pays for what they need with benefits. Sarah doesn’t enjoy video games like her children; she prefers science books, history books, and other factual material. Sarah doesn’t see the appeal of fantasy; she enjoys living in the here and now, not in some world that doesn’t exists. Zack is playing his favorite game, Intergalactic War: Sons of Hero’s. It’s a game about, you guessed it, shooting aliens in space. He doesn’t know why, but he’s fascinated by space, aliens, and pretty much anything that has to do with science fiction. His room is decked out in all kinds of space-themed video games and movies. He has stacks of comics around the room, but not too messy or else his mother would blow a fuse. He just finished up a level, then out of nowhere he sees a big flash of light coming from the backyard. It’s night outside, so it can’t be the sun. He walks over to 75

the window to investigate and sees the most astonishing thing ever. His little sister is slowly ascending up to what looks like an alien spaceship from his video game. This oval and dark ship with sharp edges, about half the size of a football stadium, has a greenish light beaming down into the backyard. His younger sister is slowly being pulled up; she seems unconscious. The ship is silent, with a faint humming noise, wanting to attract little or no attention. It looks to be a thousand feet in the air. Zack can’t believe what he’s seeing. Zack is frozen like a stone, almost catatonic; he’s petrified by the sight. Even though he isn’t moving, his mind is racing. He keeps telling himself what he’s seeing isn’t real, he is just seeing things because he has been up too late playing video games. Zack rubs his eyes and still sees everything, his sister slowly being levitated towards the alien space ship. Zack finally moves; he backs away from the window and starts running down to his mother screaming in terror. His mother is watching her favorite TV show at the time, “Sing with Celebs.” She always said it’s good to enjoy some mind numbing content to take a break, unless it’s fantasy. “Mom! Mom! Help! An alien ship is taking Elizabeth away! It looks like the ship in my game!” Zack screams in horror. “What did I tell you about playing games all night, did you even listen to me? Go upstairs and turn that game off and go to bed; you shouldn't be playing video games that much,” exclaims Sarah. I’ve got to save her; we need to do something before they get away, thinks Zack. “We need to do something, Mom! Call the cops! Call the military! Look in the backyard and you’ll see the alien ship taking Elizabeth away!” yells Zack. His mother shakes her head, gets up just to calm him down and starts to follow him to the backyard. Zack runs out the back door with bravado now that he had his mother behind him. The aliens are gone; all they can hear is the chippering of the crickets and the cool breeze of the wind. He looks back at his mother, she stares at him in annoyance because she is missing her show. Zack looks down and notices his sister’s Leia Organa toy she likes to carry around sitting in the grass. “See, Mom! This is where they took her. She must have dropped the toy here when she was being pulled into the ship!” yells Zack. “I told you not to be playing games for that long. You need to go to bed now. It’s late and you have school in the morning. Go… to… bed” shouts Sarah while pointing to the house. Zack pockets the toy and looks down at his shoes in disappointment and frustration as he walks back in. Maybe he was just seeing things, but it felt so real. He reluctantly marches his way up the stairs as his mother goes back to the couch to finish watching her show. Zack approaches his room door and suddenly the TV in his room turns on and he can hear his name being announced. On his TV sits a creature. The creature looks to be male. He has gray skin, a long oval face and no nose. The creature also looks much older, with a light gray beard. He seems to be a commander because he has a lot of markings on his uniform that 76

others walking behind him lacks; he’s also sitting in a chair placed in the center of the room. The view is wide enough to show the entire room on his 45” television. “Zack! We've been looking for you. We have your sister, the human girl. We want our 3D storage cube your father stole from us three years ago. You need to locate that device and hold it until we contact you. Don’t tell anyone. Do this or your planet will be destroyed! You have one Earth week to complete this task. We will be in contact,” says the alien on the TV screen. The television turns off before Zack can say anything. Zack’s face is in dismay and he runs to the stairway. “Holy crap! Holy crap! Holy crap! What do I do? What do I do? Mom! Mom!” yells Zack. “What?! Why aren't you sleep?!” shouts Sarah. “The alien on the TV said he has Elizabeth and he won't give her back until--“Zack says. “Stop! Go to bed now. I don't want to hear another thing about aliens abducting your sister. Your sister is sound asleep, except you! Go to bed!” interrupts Sarah. “But she’s not in her room, Mom! She’s not here!” Zack yells back. Sarah turns the television up louder; she has already missed some of her show from being dragged outside, and she doesn’t want to miss anymore of her relaxation. She then regrets not getting the DVR for live rewinding. Zack has no choice but to head back to his room. There is nothing else he can do, plus the sleep deprivation is hitting him hard. He can barely keep his eyes open; the adrenaline seems to worsen the effects. He doesn't know what happened exactly; all he knows is that at some point he was walking back and forth in his room trying to think of what to do and ended up laid out on the floor. As he is waking up he can hear a voice. “Hey brother! Hey! Wake up! Let's play a game!” says Elizabeth with much enthusiasm. “Huh? What? What's going on? Elizabeth? Is that you? How are you here?” asks Zack in confusion. “Let's play! Let's play! I'm going to grab my controller from my room,” says Elizabeth. Elizabeth runs to her room to grab her controller for the video game console. Zack is confused. Had she not been taken by the aliens? He sits down in his chair and feels something poke him on the side; it’s the Leia Organa toy. Elizabeth walks back into the room; he looks at her in astonishment. He doesn’t know how she escaped; he doesn’t know if that is really her. He has to play it cool. He doesn’t want her thinking anything is different. Maybe he’s nuts; maybe she isn't his sister but, an imposter, like in many movies he has seen. Just ask her some simple questions to see if she can spill the beans on last night, Zack thinks. “So, ummmm, what happened last night?” asks Zack, trying to play it cool. Might have been too obvious he thinks to himself.

“We played games all night and you feel asleep on the floor. I thought you were sleeping so peacefully, so I just let you lay there. Didn’t want to wake you,” says Elizabeth, without hesitation. He thinks that could make sense, but not sure why she would just leave him on the floor. For now, he just needs to pretend nothing happened until he can figure out what’s going on. They both need to leave for school. If it isn’t really her, then she will stick out at school for sure. He just needs to keep a close eye on her for anything suspicious. Plus, if she isn’t Elizabeth he wouldn’t want to get into a fight and endanger his mother downstairs. Zack and his sister arrive at school and he begins following her around the school, hiding behind corners or other students when he thinks she is going to turn around. Other students that notice him just assume he’s either playing a joke on his sister, or he is being a typical weird nerd. He follows her around school all day, watching her play with her friends. He even skips a class or two so that he can see if she behaves the same in class. She seems to be herself, but he can’t believe the aliens would just let her go. Zack is now standing in some bushes watching his sister after school. A hand grabs his shoulder. He freaks out and turns around in a hurry. There, standing in front of him, is an adult wearing a black hoodie, black shades and black jeans… he just looks weird and has a “get in my van” vibe. “Zack! What are you doing?” asks the mysterious guy, with a slight authoritative tone. “What the hell, man! Who are you, how do you know my name and why are you sneaking up behind me?” asks Zack in fear and frustration. “That’s not important right now. I need you to come with me!” says the mysterious man, demandingly. Damn! Zack thinks he is a creep. I need to get away fast, Zack thinks. Zack is just about to scream, but the mysterious man figures Zack is about to scream. “Wait! That’s not your sister. They have your sister and I’m here to help. Will you come with me?” asks the mysterious man in a panic and rushed tone. Zack can’t believe what he just heard, someone else just acknowledged the same thing he had suspected. Plus, this person couldn’t have known because he didn’t tell anyone else except his mother, and she brushed him off. Zack cautiously nods his head and follows him, watching the man. Of course, the man is driving around in a broke down van… he takes a deep breath and gets in the van. He wants answers and this man seems to know more than him. Zack and the mysterious man drive around. The strange man pulls into an alleyway and stops at a wall. Zack looks at the guy in confusion. The wall unexpectedly slowly moves upward. The now removed wall reveals a driveway leading down below ground. They take this pathway that winds around for a few seconds. They approach an elevator door that the mysterious man parks the car in front of. He looks over to Zack. “We just need to take this elevator down to the facility. There, I will answer all the questions I know you have,” says the mysterious man. 78

Zack doesn’t think for a second. He wants answers now. Zack opens the door and walks toward the door without hesitation; the mysterious man follows. They reach the elevator door and the man presses a button and presents both his eye and fingerprint. The elevator makes a confirmation sound and the door opens. The elevator takes them deeper underground, this time for about twenty seconds. The elevator door opens revealing a very big, brightly lit hanger like area. All he can see is a hive of desks and monitors mounted all over the place, with people walking all over, carrying transparent tablet looking devices and some people swapping things by gesturing documents towards the other devices. The mysterious man stands in front of Zack with a smile. “Welcome to Galactic Investigations Bureau, I’m Major Scott. We monitor everything that goes on in our galaxy, well, as much as we can. We have outposts on multiple planets, dwarf planets and space stations. We started this back in the early 80s. We have been working with multiple governments to keep this quiet. This all started when we found a downed alien ship; we believe it was doing reconnaissance,” says Major Scott as he extends his hand out, presenting the facility. Zack is in awe. The facility looks like a futuristic, technologically advanced government facility that you would see in a science fiction movie. It doesn’t take long, reality hits Zack and he remembers Major Scott’s promise. “But what about my sister!? Who has her? And what does this have to do with my dad?” asks Zack demandingly. “The aliens that have your sister are called Crytonesians. They took your sister so that you would give them back their 3D storage cube. The cube contains information about: space travel, Crytonesian history, blueprints for ships and a lot of other information we need for a coming war with them. Your dad was the one who retrieved the cube for us,” says Major Scott. Zack is in astonishment, very close to what seems like a panic attack. His dad is working with the government and waging intergalactic war against an alien race? This is unbelievable to Zack; his eyes move back and forth between this man and the facility. This is all becoming a lot of Zack to process. “The little girl that’s pretending to be your sister is one of them. As we speak I have a crew tracking her and getting ready to take her out. Don’t worry though, we will get your mother to safety. This crew is good at being discreet and protecting assets,” says Major Scott reassuringly. “Oh shit! My mom, I never went home, or contacted her. She’s probably worried. She’s going to kill me,” Zack says in panic. “Don’t worry, we will bring her here… your father made that pretty clear,” says Major Scott. “My dad!? He’s alive?” exclaims Zack. Zack can’t believe what he is hearing. Aliens, war, imposter's, his father? This is becoming a bit too much for him. They then start walking down to a nearby conference room. This room looks over the main area of the facility with big screen monitors all around showing perimeter statuses, cameras throughout the facility and icons showing the status of remote bases. 79

“Yes, Zack. Your father is alive. He’s a Major General. Major General Geer. My next instruction is to introduce you to him. However, he’s not on Earth right now. He’s taking care of issues on the Mar’s base. We will have to go meet up with him,” says Major Scott. “Meet up with him? On another planet? What? How? Why would I even go?” asks Zack with too many emotions to know how to feel. “Your dad has been training you and millions of other people for this day. All those days you’ve been playing those games, it was your dad’s plan to train as many people in the world for this day. All those shooter games, RTS and simulation games were to get the world ready to fight. That ship looked a whole lot like the ships in the game, didn’t it? We’ve spent lots of money on the video game industry to get everyone as ready as they’ll ever be. We’ve also spent money in the movie industry to get nongamers ready for the ideal. The whole world isn’t ready yet; there’s more things we wish we could have done, but we simply don’t have time,” says Major Scott. Just then Sarah and a group of men enter the room. Zack and Sarah run towards each other and embrace, as if they haven't seen each other in years, Sarah being more confused than Zack as the men didn’t inform her of what is going on. Sarah holds her son, not wanting to let him go. "What the hell is going on Zack!? And where the hell is Elizabeth?" asks Sarah with a tone of sadness, confusion and anger. Zack and Major Scott explain everything that is going on; as a result, Sarah breaks down in tears. She thinks there is no way her husband could be alive, and no way could aliens have abducted her daughter. Just then an alarm goes off. Two soldiers enter the room in a panic. “Sir, we’ve lost communications with Mar’s base; it’s under attack” says one of the soldiers.

The Gift That Never Gave Kaitlyn Holt

When I was thirteen, I was taken on a seemingly uneventful car ride. I sat in the back seat while my sister and our Uncle Tony, who is not actually related to us, whispered about where they were taking me. The suspense of uncertainty was enough to make me want to jump out of the moving vehicle. However, I smiled and pretended to be excited with no intention of doing otherwise. Even as a baby I was always quiet and reserved. In fact, I remember my mother telling me that they thought she had miscarried because I never moved around in the womb. There are kids who are eager to explore the world, and there are others who soak it in from a distance. If you haven’t guessed already, I was the latter. Being the youngest of a brother and sister, I always felt like I was being pushed into the background. As I grew and matured, I chose to accept this as my identity, most likely because I didn’t see another option. I was the baby, I was quiet, and I was scared shitless of the world around me. After an hour drive, we had arrived. The stillness of the parked car meant I must face the unknown realm of surprise. We were at a music store, and the proud look of anticipation on Uncle Tony’s face is forever burned into my mind. I can still hear the horrifying words “Just wait, you’ll see.” We were greeted by a woman that seemed to be expecting us; in fact, she seemed to be expecting me in particular. “You must be Katie,” she said with the sweetest of tones, making me wish I wasn’t Katie. Uncle Tony’s tall, lanky figure leaned on the counter as he announced, “We’re here to buy this special young lady a violin!” His words felt like a scorching spotlight that would melt me. I gasped, as I assumed I should, and cried tears of embarrassment. His thoughtfulness made me want to die 100 times, but I gave him the warmest of hugs. With the purchase of my violin came expectation and pressure. Let’s face it, I couldn’t just keep the violin to myself; Uncle Tony wanted to hear his investment ring with success. Every time I saw him the first thing out of his mouth was, “I wanna hear you play!” followed by the sawing of his arm back and forth as he motioned like he was playing a violin. At my first few violin lessons I thought I would pass out, scream, run away, or all three. However, after about two years of lessons, I came to enjoy playing my violin. That is, when I was without an audience. The pressure I was faced with felt like a vacuum sucking all of the enjoyment out of it for me. I decided that I wanted to take a break from lessons and that I would pick them up at another time. Well, that other time never came, and I lost touch with my beloved instrument. Now that I am 21, I often wish that I would have never given up. However, giving up was the easy way out. Giving up was my emergency brake. I sealed my violin in its case, trapping it inside all of the dust and rosin; only I knew that I had no intention of bringing it back to life. The words of my Uncle Tony that I will never live up to: I know one day you’ll make me proud. I was still young enough to have the potential to do great things with my life. Tony probably thought he was guaranteeing me a life of opportunity, traveling with orchestras and seeing the world through the eyes of a gifted musician. Maybe he was, and I just didn’t have the key to unlocking this beautiful gift. 81

Imaginary Friends Sarah Wylie

Little Nina Watkins was six years old when she vanished. She left without a trace, as if she had flown off into the night, never to be seen again. No one had seen her disappearance coming, but they had seen the bruises that tarnished her arms. Everyone knew that Mr. and Mrs. Watkins wouldn’t dare raise a hand to their precious, only child; they hardly stayed home long enough to do so. Her parents, at first, brushed it off as a child who played too roughly, as many children do, and got scuffed too easily. It was the simplest answer because no one would believe the alternative. Nina Watkins had had imaginary friends ever since she had been old enough to talk, to fill the emptiness her parents left behind, but they had never talked back. When she turned six, her imaginary friends seemed to take on a mind of their own, twisted and eerie, as if they were possessed with something sinister. They were the only ones to ever talk back to Nina. Instead of a personal name, her friends told Nina to call them “brother” and “sister.” Sister would play with the antique china dolls that Nina’s mother had gifted on her sixth birthday. She would take Nina to the edge of her bedroom window and launch them over the edge, eyes entirely black and wide as she told her that one day they’d all fly instead of just shattering on the concrete below. Brother, with sharp, blue-tinted claws for fingers and hooves for feet, would push her high on the creaky swing set outside, telling her to pretend she could touch the stars. One afternoon of playing, Nina came into the house shaking, dirt smudged down the front of her dress, mixing with red. Her nose had been bleeding, staining the collar of the fabric. Her nanny only had a slight reaction. “What happened to you?” she asked with a smoky voice, eyeing the child from her awkward stance in front of the fridge, casually propping the door open. Her fingernails, sharp as the knives sitting in the drawers, were the same color as the stains on the dress. Nina’s response was brittle and nasally, speaking around her chubby fingers pinching her nose closed. Her heart beat fast in her chest. “Brother pushed me off the swing; he told me to try to fly.” Nanny’s gaze went back into the fridge, already bored, unconcerned. “You mean you fell, Nina. No one pushed you.” That was the response every time Nina mentioned her strange friends; they weren’t real, that nobody was there. But the quiet pressure of someone always standing just behind her and the feeling of someone breathing heavily down her neck didn’t feel imaginary, nor did the clawed hand that reached to grip her own. Her mother always told her she was too old for imaginary friends, and her father told her to grow up. When they said these things, Brother and Sister smiled their ghastly grins, pointed teeth jutting out, amused by their cruelty. “They don’t believe we’re real,” Brother had said one night, whispering in the confines of Nina’s large bedroom. He stood near the window, scratching one sharp finger against the glass. The noise it made filled the room, causing the hairs on Nina’s 82

arms to raise. “We are here more than they are, yet we are not real. We must show them.” “Yes,” Sister agreed, taking the child’s small hand. Her gaze seemed hungry. “We must.” After that night, after spending time with Brother and Sister, Nina would wake the next morning with bruises marring her forearms and scratches scarring her legs. They resembled the shape of little fingers wrapping around her limbs, from where Sister had gripped her too tightly. The cuts were small, from where Brother’s nails had scraped her. Her mother and father, finally noticing, became alarmed. “What happened, Nina?” Sister had told her, no matter what, she could never tell the truth. “I fell,” she’d say instead, watching the twins from the other side of the table, sitting in the rarely used chairs, watching with their soulless eyes. They seemed to monitor every word she used. Her mother glanced around the room, eyes skating right past the siblings, as if they weren’t even there. “Hasn’t Nanny been watching you?” Nina thought about all the times Nanny hadn’t been watching: when she fell into the pond, when she was pushed off the swing set, when she almost fell out of her window. “Yes,” Nina lied, her voice shaking. “I just fall a lot.” Her words did not put her parents at ease. That night, they stayed up for hours on the phone with Nanny, talking loudly. Nina overheard her mother say the word “abusive” a lot, but Nina didn’t know what the word meant. “They didn’t believe you,” Brother hissed in Nina’s ear, guiding her back into her bedroom. His fingers felt like ice against her skin. “You didn’t try hard enough.” Sister sat on her bed, brushing her long, slender fingers across a porcelain doll’s face. The dark hair looked exactly like Nina’s, cut the same, and their outfits identical. She didn’t look up when Brother shut the door, nor when he walked to the window and pushed the glass open. Night air burst into the room and stole all the warmth, snaking around Nina’s exposed skin. “This time they’ll believe you,” he told her, grabbing a child’s coat off a peg on the wall. He handed the jacket to her to put on. “They’ll realize that they should’ve been here more. That they should have loved you more.” Sister took the porcelain doll by its fragile hand and stood. “We’ll go on an adventure,” she said, guiding the doll to the window, gesturing for Nina to follow. “Over the woods. Remember when I said we’d fly? Past the pond. You like the pond, don’t you?” Nina could only nod her small head, afraid to say otherwise. Brother climbed onto the sill of the window, sitting down on the wide frame, reaching behind him. “Come now.” His hands, in the shadows of the room, looked almost transparent, as if he was turning into a fog. Nina could not say no to the twins, she never could, and she never would. They were her family, her only family. She peeked over the edge of the window; the ground glared up from below, seeming far and hard. “We’re going to jump?”

“No, silly,” Sister spoke from behind her, handing Nina the doll to hold onto. “We’re going to fly.” She smiled, but it seemed sharp and ferocious. “This is how they will notice you more.” “Will it hurt?” she asked, looking at the doll’s features. She wasn’t smiling, her eyes closed. “Of course not.” Brother’s eyes glinted as dark as the night sky. “We’d never hurt you, Sister.” Nina really liked the nickname; it made her feel finally, finally at home. “On three,” Sister whispered, voice seeming to deepen into a growl. “One.” “Two.” Brother gripped Nina’s hand tight, squeezing it. His sharp fingers pierced her palm. Heart pounding, Nina took a slight breath. The air seemed to freeze her throat. “Three.” She pinched her eyes shut as the sill’s sturdy frame disappeared from beneath her, as the doll dropped from her grasp, as Brother and Sister raised their hands high enough to touch the stars. Somewhere, far below her, in the distance of the night, she heard the shattering of glass.

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Hayleigh Zuk Water drifting through trenches Made deep in the ocean. Feel the current flowing strong; See the waves crash beneath; Taste the saltwater tears; Hear the whisper of life; Know you are not alone. But don’t drift softly through your thoughts. Dig deeper with each passing moment; Question everything that led you to this place. Look above to the lightest blue current, Look below to deep black water. So far down you’ve sunk, But you’re only in the middle. Forever changing, growing, adapting to New daydreams. Realities become distant memories as The sea becomes who you are. You are the waves that crash each morning, Cleansing the shore. You are the soft peaks that form in the evening, Caressing the eyes of all who view you. You are the deepest blue and the clearest water. You are the wave that touches the sunrise.

But even still, With all of your glory, Despite your depth, Despite all that you are,

You are not the Sun.

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Jennifer Killian She walks alone mostly. She walked alone at age twelve becoming the mother to the mother, becoming the mother to the brother and the sister all in one. She has always walked alone even though married with a smile on her face. Still she walks alone. Alone with her thoughts and worries, fears never stop playing in her mind. Wondering if they are okay and worrying if the brother the sister and the mother will ever be alright. Ten years of the father gone and the mother a drunk caused her to be tangled in a web of confusion to worry and have restless nights. The sister always a lost soul missing the love she never received, the brother with no attention becoming buried in a world of video games and fantasy for attention. Now today bad choices and isolation haunt the brother and the sister, forcing them to also walk alone. She now worries the mother can never take care of herself, bad choices, alwaysbad choices being made. She rescues the mother over and over in fear that she will lose the mother, causing her to walk alone in her dark lonesome empty mind. She sees no end in sight, no way to fix this lonesome worried mind. The children. The children keep her going. She pastes a smile under the makeup and the hair products, straps her expensive shoes on and smiles again, not showing how she feels under all of the fake. The fake covers up her frown and her pain. He has given her a great life, one to be admired but she is dying. Inside of her mind she is alone, lost in worry and panic for the next day to come. She wonders what kind of torturous things may happen next. A phone call perhaps, a knock at the door from the police, the school calling about the children. Once again she remembers the children. He gave her the children and she is being unfair, worrying and wondering about the brother, the sister, and the mother. She has got to let it go. No way out, no way to make them change how they live. The sister will make her choices, to be loved or to walk alone; it is out of her hands. The brother will choose to be isolated in a world of pretend and fantasy; it also is out of her hands. Oh but the mother, with him, always choosing him who is bad. He makes her do things she shouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have to do, feel pain she shouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t have to feel, but still she chooses him; it is out of her hands. The mother will choose him and the mother will walk alone within herself, but she will not walk alone. She will no longer accept walking alone. She will walk proud; she will walk happily, with him, her husband, by her side and the new light within her. For so many years she walked alone always uncertain, but not again. She knows she deserves to be happy because his wisdom has shown her that the world of happiness is a place worth entering. Letting go of the worry and sorrow only allowing light, healing, happiness and love inside of her. He deserves more and has shown her ultimately that what matters most to her has been right in front of her face. The children need a person who walks beside them carrying them through. Most of all, he needs her to be the woman who stands beside him, for he has given her 87

the strength, and she has finally found she does not walk alone, when he is right there showing her the way.

Birthday Beer Emilee Rasegan I could feel the sweat dripping off of my forehead. I was leaned over water running into the filthy sink. I looked up into the foggy mirror and barely recognized my reflection. I could hear my sister, Andrea, trying to justify her bad behavior to my once controlling mother. She had lost all of her motivation to control us, or even keep the house clean anymore. I left the bathroom wearing my best suit, which to most people would be mediocre at best. My shirt was missing a button and there was a stain on my sleeve. I could hear the incomprehensible mother-daughter banter coming from the kitchen. I didn't feel happy in my own home anymore. Until ten months ago it was my happy place, but everything was different now. That day should have been the greatest day of my life. It was my 21st birthday. My father was a heavy drinker. He wasn't an alcoholic by any means, but alcohol was my father’s passion. He brewed his own beer in my tiny attic. That was the only place my mother allowed him to. Like I said, she used to be very controlling. For as long as I can remember my dad promised to buy me a beer on my 21st birthday. My mother never promoted my drinking, but my father let me have a beer every birthday after my 18th. He called it my "birthday beer." I only had three birthday beers with him. The past ten months had been hardest on my sister. Her and my dad were inseparable. My mom got pregnant with her before she met my dad, but my dad raised her as his own. Unmarried, unemployed, and twenty-three years old, Andrea can now add 5 months pregnant to her short list of unimpressive accomplishments. Her and my mother always bickered, but my dad always intervened and could somehow fix the problem. Being the man of the house, I wanted to be able to do what my father once did. My 21st birthday was my first birthday without my dad. We had plans as a broken family to go to a fancy restaurant and pretend everything was okay. I didn’t love the idea of this, but I didn’t have any friends to go party with so, what the hell? I was standing in the mirror emotionally preparing myself for the impending horror of the dinner to come. My mom, sister, and I drove to the restaurant in silence. None of us wanted to waste potential dinner conversation topics on the car ride there. We never had a lot to talk about, so any possible conversation topic was something to hold on to. By the time we got to dinner I was already ready to leave. When the waitress came, naturally, I ordered a drink. I ordered a gin and tonic, because beer just wasn’t strong enough for this dinner. In all honesty I didn’t want to drink, but I ordered one for the novelty of the waitress asking for my ID. Then I ordered another, and another. I hoped it would make casual conversation with my miserable family easier. My mom kept up with me. My pregnant sister couldn’t, but I knew she wanted to. Nobody mentioned my dad. Honestly, no one ever mentioned him. It was like he didn’t even exist. My mom was the one keeping him alive at that point. My sister and I don’t agree on much, but we both agreed that being a vegetable wasn’t a life my dad 89

deserved to live. We thought it was worse than being dead. My mom just couldn’t cope with the idea of being alone. After I had one too many I finally mentioned him. It was nothing but a pleasant memory of my childhood bedroom and the dinosaurs he painted on the wall for me. Then my sister, who is notorious for her big mouth and her terrible timing, decided to blurt out our unpopular opinion. “Collin and I think dad deserves to be let go, Mom.” This was followed by nothing but silence out of my mother. I could see the tears being jerked out of her eyes by the alcohol in her system. She began to stand up slowly. I’ve never seen her like this. “Mom, she didn’t mean that. We should talk about this some other time,” I said trying to be the voice of reason. I almost started to cry wishing I could do it the way my father did. My mom began to whisper what sounded like prayer to herself. I was petrified to find out what was going to happen next. She was hesitant at first, but mother quickly raised her hand and slapped my sister across the face with years of anger coming through her palm. The mother who raised me would never lay a hand on her children. My sister being aggressive, irrational, and pregnant made the decision to do the same to my mother. They had never been physical with each other before. I was starting to feel like my life was becoming Jerry Springer worthy. I could only hear parts of sentences while trying to stop their screams like, “it’s what dad would have wanted” and “how dare you assume.” I started to cry thinking about what my dad would do if he knew what was happening. After the manager came and kindly escorted the old woman, pregnant chick, and drunk crying kid from the restaurant, we headed home. Another silent car ride. My sister went home to her no-good boyfriend and my drunk mother passed out on the couch; I took a cab to the hospital. I arrived to a commotion in my dad’s room, 27C. They wouldn’t let me inside. I waited outside for two hours until a doctor came out and let me know the depressing, yet somehow relieving news. His car accident caused brain trauma. He had been having seizures, and this one finally ended his life. I felt bad thinking it “finally” ended his life, but I was happy he could be at peace. I couldn’t see him like that anymore. Aside from the heartache, I was relieved knowing my mother’s burden had been lifted. I sat in the hospital waiting room alone all night not wanting to be the one to tell my mother and sister. So much for my birthday beer.

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Jessica Rentch I miss you more and more every day, My heart aches for you while I lie awake. I remember fondly when we went down to the bay, You held me so close to you next to the lake.

Sometimes I can still see your face, In my dreams it’s like you’re always next to me. I wear a gown that’s trimmed in lace, You take my hand and get down on one knee.

Before the words can even leave my mouth, I see her shadow appear around the corner. The two of you start to run south, Then I’m left there alone, a mourner.

Every day that passes my heart aches. I hope we meet again, for my sake.

Beasts of No Nation That time of the year again

Emmanuel Kuma

And they are back in their chartered planes With empty promises: "Your votes matter," They will tell you.

We have listened to your cries, We are here to help, You have suffered for long, And now is time for a change.

To stop the Washington revolving door, You need a fresh representative who does not represent corporate interest.

Lies! Lies! Lies! How many times in decades have you heard the same rhetoric? Those Washington ancients were once newcomers 92

They gave you false hope and fake promises They told you they were the better lot. New masks Same old music Old dancers Same dance moves Thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the circle of life, my friends. They are here for your votes They will be gone with the wind, Leaving you broken-hearted and miserable: Why should you believe them now? Why should you cast the ballot?

My people, why beat up each other? Why curse each other? Why bully each other? We, the people can renovate Washington, We are the Guardians of the nation. 93

The Insistence of Time Megan Johnson

If Time isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t linear Then why am I dying?

As a kiss is a curse And a cure

So is Time, healing wounds and creating ever more in its wake

Even when Time is benevolent It takes Pictures so we will forever mourn its Passing

Time is mother of all, Reaper of all Raper of all Makes fools of us all

Standing on its arc Like a horizon

Knowing for certain, as you can see with your

Own Eyes that the earth is flat

Trapped

David Johnson “How long has it been?” Theresa asked. “Almost a day,” replied James. “Ya think they know we’re down here?” “Not sure,” James said. “But I don’t hear nothin.” They were trapped. Prisoners inside their own home, or what was left of it. “How much water is left?” “Bout a sip,” James said. “You can have it.” James handed Theresa the bottle. She held it up to the small flashlight, their only source of illumination. James was right, about a sip was left. “You sure?” she questioned. “Yeah go ahead,” he replied. “I’ll be okay.” She drank it slowly, savoring the last few drops. The flashlight began to dim. “Turn it off,” James barked. “That’s all we got.” It was too late. The light faded, plunging them into total darkness. Theresa slapped the small cylinder in her palm, willing it to illuminate. “Surprised it lasted this long,” said James. “Yeah,” Theresa replied. “Batteries were pretty new, I think.” They sat back to back in silence for a while on the concrete floor. The darkness soaking into them. Theresa began to cry, and James felt the despair creep into his soul. “We’re going to die down here,” Theresa sobbed. “Don’t say that!” snapped James. “They’ll find us.” “They would have found us by now if they were looking!” Theresa shot back. The small room that had been their salvation had now become their nightmare. When the sirens had gone off, they had just enough time to seek shelter. They had woken to what sounded like a locomotive passing their small, country home. Flashlight in hand, they had fled to what the realtor had called a root cellar. As the roaring tornado tore apart their home, they had huddled in the tiny space in terror. Now the rough limestone walls entombed them. “Will you try the door again?” Theresa pleaded. “Yeah,” James said. “But it won’t budge. We’re buried.” The finality of that statement sank in as James threw his weight at the door. Exhausted and defeated, he slumped to the floor next to Theresa. They held each other as they cried and eventually drifted into sleep. “What was that?” James said, startled awake. “What?!” cried Theresa. “Shhhh!” he whispered. “I think I hear something.” They listened. A low, rumble began to shake the ground. It was shortly followed by the scrape of dirt and debris being excavated, just beyond the walls. “Machinery! They found us,” she exclaimed, scrambling to her feet. “It is! Wait… is that… water? I’m all wet,” he said as he too jumped up. The noise grew much louder. Rescue was so close. Just outside the foundation, James thought. The water, inches deep just a moment ago, was now over their knees. With a loud crack, a tiny shaft of light pierced the darkness. They heard muffled voices. So close. “They must have hit the old cistern,” he said in dismay. “It’s getting deeper! Help! Help us!” she screamed. “What do we do? What do we do?!” James turned to look at his wife, the widening light playing across his grim face. “Pray.” 96

JFK Allycia Belcher Growing up in my house the sounds of the History Channel were ever prevalent. Discussions of the Civil War, World War II, and political campaigns over the decades were also common place. I can still remember like it was yesterday my first time entering The Henry Ford Museum with my family. That is when I found my true passion in life. History in a flash went from black and white to Technicolor. Suddenly I went from imagining the lives of these people to seeing the remnants of life from these people. This is no truer than when I saw with my brother Lee the limousine that John F. Kennedy was assassinated in. Since he is twelve years older than me he was always more like another parent in our home. There is no place he could go or nothing he could do that I did not want to follow. It was no different when it came to his strong interest for history and our 35th president John F. Kennedy.

John F. Kennedy was assassinated on November 22nd, 1963 in Dealey Plaza in Dallas Texas. His assassination rocked our nation to its very core. It completely altered our nationâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s history forever. There is no telling where our nation could be today if that tragedy had not occurred. When you add in the huge conspiracy theories that surround his untimely death you get the perfect cocktail for a history buff. On one of my many adventures wandering antique stores I came across a 1960 JFK presidential campaign pamphlet. The rush that coursed through my veins was as if I was roaring down off the top of a roller coaster. Touching the paper that aided in electing not only our future president but also aided in the making of an icon was like nothing else. I could not purchase it fast enough. I was almost afraid that some secret service agent was going to pop out of the chest of drawers nearby and snatch it out of my hands. I bought it wanting it for myself but knowing that it wouldn't be right. I knew there was one person in this world that would love this piece of history more than myself and that person was Lee. I kept it a secret which was difficult to do because I was so thrilled. But when his birthday came around I knew exactly want to give him. With a bit of reluctance and a morsel of guilt for wanting to keep it I gave it to Lee. His shock and gratefulness for it was all that I needed to know that I did the right thing.

Although it was difficult for me to let go of probably my greatest find I know there is no one that would appreciate that piece of history more than my big brother Lee. If not for him I do not believe that I would love history as much as I do. It is one of the biggest parts of myself and that has shaped the person that I am today. If not for the inspiration of my family mainly the influence of my brother Lee I would not have the perspective on life that I do.

Dear Future Alexus Sims

Often times, I wonder What you would be like. Oh how my thoughts for you ponder, Because this thing called life, is quite the hike. Sometimes, things I face in life aren’t easy. At times, I just want to give up. Sometimes I wish life was breezy. But I know when life gets cloudy, I’d have no luck. I won’t know how to handle the hardships. I have to be realistic when it comes down to you, And myself in order to have healthy relationships. So, Dear Future, could you give me a clue or two? Who will I marry? What will my career be? How many children will I carry? Will I be rich and drive a Ferrari? Will I be content overall? Where will my family and I live? Will my husband be charming and tall? Will my heart still desire to give? Will Will Will Will

I still have the same friends? I be happy? I run into some dead ends? my life be short and snappy?

Will I be successful? Will I live a healthy life? Will my kids be a handful? Hell, will I even be a wife? Dear Future, I’m dying inside to finally see, All you have in store for me.

Creative Writing: A Poem Alexis Harp Break free, use imagination, no rules, get creative, spread your wings. But I live in a box. It can be anything your heart desires; anything you want. I don’t know what I want. Just start with an idea, cultivate and watch it grow before your eyes. What if I fail? Sometimes freedom is intimidating and causes a reverse effect. I’ll stay where it’s safe. New chances and opportunities are presented and encouraged. But why gamble? Just open your mind and get out of your own head. Where does it lead? I’m afraid to look. It doesn’t have to be a drastic endeavor, a leap of faith, or life changing. Start off small. Allow yourself to begin the journey and learn of the possibilities in store. One step at a time. The beauty of creativity is it cannot be nailed down, restricted, or defined. It’s what I make it. Learn about who you are, your passions, your fears, your dreams, your abilities. Can’t stop me now! Break down the barriers that held you prisoner for so long. Finally, free.

The Day Everything Changed Alexandra Sarna

I can remember the day that every child fears, the day no one wants to happen. It started off as a normal day. My brother and I going off to school, my dad at work and my mom having her day off. The only difference was that it was Halloween and I had plans to hang out with friends when the school day ended. I was in seventh grade, going to Milan, so my plans were to trick-or-treat in Milan with all my friends. A whole group of us walking around, the chilly, fall air, night sky just settling, everyone laughing and having a good time together, then the sirens went off signaling that trick-or-treating was over. It was time to go home. We walked across town back to Shannon’s where her mom was waiting for us to drive me back to my house. We told her about our night as she drove the back roads back to where I live in Ypsilanti. Finally, we got to my house. The car ride home felt longer than usual that night for some reason but I jumped out of the side door, all excited to go in and see my family and tell them all about my night. Little did I know that my good mood was going to end soon. After talking to my parents I ran up to my bedroom, climbing the stairs two at a time. It was time to start the homework I had neglected all night. About thirty minutes went by and I was just starting to focus when I heard my name being called, “Alexandra, Ryan, come down here for a minute.” I ran down the steps, thinking it was going to be good news. I sat down on the couch in between my mom and brother, my dad sitting on the chair, all of us waiting for someone to speak. It felt like hours going by when it was only a few minutes. It was so silent down there that you could’ve heard a pin drop. Finally, my mom broke the silence, “You guys… your dad and I… we decided to get a divorce.” Those six little words hit me like a bus. I sat there speechless for ten minutes. My whole body had gone numb. I didn’t think I could move if I tried. Nobody was talking. My mom decided to break the silence once again, “Your dad is going to let us stay in the house. He’ll be gone by next week.” I was so confused, everything had seemed like it was fine. They had been acting completely normal and then this out of nowhere. A tear finally escaped from my eyes and then all at once I broke down and that’s all it took. Maybe a few seconds later my brother broke down, and then my mom right after him. Next, the thing no little girl ever she thinks she’ll see happened… my dad also broke down and started to cry. That was the second time my body went into shock that night. My dad just sat there trying to hold back his tears and saying he was sorry. All I wanted to do was run up to my room and cry by myself. I stood up to go but my dad stood up and stopped me. He walked over to me, taking me into his tight, warming arms, and hugged me. Both of us were crying and he was apologizing to me. Saying he was sorry over and over and over again. What had he even done though? My brother got up and joined the hug and then my mom joined in. Everyone was crying, not wanting to let go of the comfort. Time felt like it

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was standing still. It felt right. It felt like we should all be hugging, like we were all strong and we could get through it together. No one else in the world mattered at that moment. After talking for a few more minutes I finally got permission to go back to my room so I went upstairs and hid under my desk crying. I was so mad and hurt, I just wanted my parents to stay together. What had happened? The next week continued on as normal, me and Ryan going to school, my dad going to work, and my mom working her three days. We all still ate dinner together, pretending like nothing had happened at all. Maybe I had hope that we were all going to act like that night never happened. We were just going to move on from it. I thought everything was fixed and we were all staying together. Then when I got home from school the following Friday, things felt different. It felt more empty than usual. Things were missing. While we were at school my dad and his friends had come to the house and took my dads stuff. It was official. He was gone.

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The Beauty of You Ericka Brooks

You are blinded by lies Agony swelling: jealousy, disrespect, and coldness Developing hatred for yourself inside. But it’s time to gain back your boldness. Your laugh, fashion, and intellect are unique. Sensitivity to judgement needs to be something you defeat. Don’t pay any mind to the critique. The mind and heart is the window seat To your soul. Just love yourself, And the rest is gold. Your mind is different from the rest— You see the gray in the black and white. How you handle cruelty is the test. Some people are overcome with spite; They see nothing but their flaws. Use damaging words like rusted, serrated blades To cut you raw. Some are threatened by your vitality. You are as brilliant as the stars they can’t imagine reaching. How they do try to discredit your individuality— Ignore it. Live. Just keep on breathing.

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Fear

Madisen Stewart The girl grew up afraid of fire No monsters under her bed Just the fear of flames eating her up The idea of something so powerful Was too much for the little girl to handle Later in life Though she was still afraid of fire She found a new fear, something much scarier She grew afraid of herself But maybe the idea of something so powerful Was too much for her to handle Eventually, the girl grew tired of fear So she decided to burn To burn everything The matches â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;til they almost kissed her fingers Scraps of paper filled with hate Abandoned doodles of an ugly world And she realized something She liked watching things burn She used to be afraid of the fire Its power and unpredictability Instead, she discovered Uncontrollable and powerful things Are beautiful So she set fire to her world Deciding to burn it like a forest Necessary to start over And like a forest after a fire She rose from the ashes Fury in her eyes and a command on her lips - Fear me

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Short Story: The Accident Shaylah Pulley

Skkrrrrr! All that could be heard was the squelching of tires, searing across the black asphalt, peppered with the still falling snowflakes adorning the night sky. Glass breaking, tires popping, and metal re-molding as the car rolled and hit the ground with extreme force. Then, it fell silent, the car stalling in an uncomfortable position on the side of an oak tree, the smoke of the engine mixing with the existing fog of the snow storm. It almost seemed as if nothing had happened, the snow on one side of the road was left undisturbed, the white as smooth as a fluffy blanket. There was no debris on the road, and below, no sounds could be heard from inside of the Honda Accord that was camouflaged in the blackness, just out of shot of the few street lights placed every few feet. No moans, groans, screams or cries from the two passengers left in the mangled wreckage. There was complete silence. It started as an innocent night out, Ashley and her friend, Jade, wanting to take advantage of the End of the Year sales that the local mall always held during the winter months, when the new year was quickly approaching. Ashley had been saving up all month, refraining from spending her biweekly paychecks from the cell phone accessory shop she worked at four days a week. They left the mall after a couple hours of shopping, eating soft pretzels, and girl chat. Ashley had found the perfect Christmas gifts for her family and friends, her and Jade toting arm fulls of bags to Ashley’s mom’s blue Honda Accord, which was practically her daughter’s because of how often she drove it. Ashley hopped in the front seat, putting the key in the ignition, and turning the radio up. The ride home was the same as always, as she lived only about five miles from the mall. The roads were becoming empty, it was getting later, not to mention the snow was beginning to fall harder. As the windows became foggy, and the roads lines were disappearing under the snow, Ashley decided to turn down the radio, and end her conversation with Jade. Too many of her friends had been in car accidents, almost all of them because they were goofing off and distracted. She wanted to make sure the road had her full attention. However, no matter how close she paid attention to the road, and made sure she was driving under the speed limit, the accident was unavoidable. A patch of slick, black ice caused the car to lose control. The steering wheel jerked from Ashley’s hands, following the path of the slipping tires. Her first reaction was to wrench the wheel the opposite way, but that only made it worse, the car falling from the road, and into the trench below, littered with trees. Ashley was forced forward, being introduced face first to the bone crushing air bag that was deployed in seconds. At the same time, the windshield imploded, showering her face with tiny shards of glass that pinched her skin, and felt like sand in her eyes. It seemed to Ashley like the car rolled forever, everything moving in slow motion. She felt as if she was being smashed, her body crumpling with every impact to the car roof, or the steering wheel in front of her. Her ears were ringing with the sounds of cracking, shattering, and the crunching of her own bones. At some point, she stopped attempting to hold onto the car, and just let herself relax in her seat. She gave up, letting herself be thrown around the 104

vehicle like the shopping bags in the back seat. She was afraid that if she kept flailing around, she would only do more damage. The car came to an abrupt stop, posted up on one of the trees, and she felt a final breath of air knocked from her lungs by the force. She looked over at Jade, whose head had finally stopped flailing on her shoulders, blood running down her forehead as if a cup had just been poured onto her. No response coming from her unconscious friend except for the fluttering of her eyelids as she fought to stay alive. She tried to reach over and touch Jade, let her know it would be okay, she would survive. But, she couldn’t. It was like her brain wasn’t communicating to her body. Ashley was sure that she must’ve looked just as bad, if not worse. Judging from the blood running from her own nose and down onto her chin and chest, her nose and other bones in her face were broken, the airbag splintering her profile. Not to mention her ribs, which cracked upon impact of the seat belt when she was pushed forward, and her foot that had somehow been smashed by the gas pedal. She ran her tongue along her bloody, iron-tasting, mouth and felt the jagged edges of her freshly fractured teeth, only feeling her soft gums in some places. She grimaced in pain. She knew she was lucky to be alive. But, she had to move fast if she wanted to stay that way. She attempted to remove her seatbelt, so that she could get herself and Jade out of the car before further damage occurred. She knew that both of them were in fatal condition, and they needed help immediately. Especially Jade, barely breathing, and not moving or speaking at all. She also knew that being in a piece of burning machinery in which gas was leaking from was not a good situation. Ashley smelled the smoke, and she doubted that even though there was snow on the ground, an explosion wouldn’t ensue. As she frantically struggled to remove her seatbelt, she could feel the energy draining from her body. Spots of white light clouding her vision in random bursts, but she fought through it, forcing her aching joints to move and aid her in releasing the belt from around her constricted chest. Ashley managed to drag herself out of the driver’s side door, only to stand and immediately fall into the cold snow beneath her. Her body couldn’t handle that right now. She tried to scream, call for help, but she couldn’t. Her voice just wouldn’t come out. She gathered every ounce of fight she had left and crawled to Jade’s side, one of her arms numb, which made it extremely difficult. The snow below her was melting with the warm, red liquid spilling from her. She hadn’t even managed to open the passenger door before she collapsed, the cold of the ground almost burning her skin. Tears streamed down her face as she realized that she couldn’t save her friend, and she couldn’t save herself. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the sky. Everything seemed so undisturbed. It was crazy to believe that although her life was hanging in the balance, everyone else still went on the same. There wasn’t anyone looking for her, no sirens signally that help was on the way. Finally, she closed her eyes, giving into the bright light that taunted her vision.

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