Wordsworth Magazine Fall 2024

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Mia Lewis, Editor

Myst Morgan, Editor

Elliot Christensen, Editor

Miley Coté, Editor

Jody Bault Adams, Advisor

Victor Riley, Advisor

Staff...

Ada Tice

Alex Cusack

Brooklyn Chapin

Cadence Koch

Clark Cozens

Dahlia Aldana

Elodie Davis

Holland Rudolph

Jae Chase

Josie Sanderson

Lillian Lafontaine

Lilly Sacks

Liz Woodbury

Lulu Duncan

Luna Young

Madison Jones

Ramona Sanchez

Rory Wood

Ruby Sanders

Vivian Collmer

Dear Reader,

As the autumn season slowly envelops us, a new issue of Wordsworth literary magazine has fallen from the printer press and into your hands. The crisp air brings hardships along with beauty and growth, all of which can be found and explored in this collection of writings. With a mug of apple cider in hand and a blanket for warmth, we invite you into the worlds and minds shared with you from the many authors of VSAA.

The biggest of thanks goes out to Ms. Adams and Mr. Riley who have provided the support and opportunity for so many students to share their hard work. You are both the backbone and the heart of lit mag, and have inspired every member of our staff in more ways than can be written. To the staff of lit mag, we give our gratitude as well, for spending your Tuesdays with us and working hard to make this project come together. Sincerely, this magazine would not be the same without every one of you. With that, please enjoy the autumn addition of Wordsworth, 2024: Apple of my Eye.

Warmly, Your

Editors

a b l e o f c o n t e n t s

blossom

Ace Guenther

Andy Rockwell

Anonymous

Athena

Aurora Maayen

Axle Green

Clark Cozens

Ebonie

Elodie Davis

Evan Hipple

Everlyn bagh is so cool

Freya Normington

kay

LS

whispered dread 2

The Wind Blows 3

Untitled 4

The Dryad 5

Demolition Day 7

Oh Crumbled Flower 9

Autumn- 10

Hiding 11

Fly Again 12

Beauty 13

планета океан 14

The Tree Thief 16

Pick-a-Pumpkin 18

Piney x Violet 19

Lucy Collmer garden 20

m a h a l i a

no

Olivia Muñoz

Renascence 23

Untitled 24

An odd dove 27 phoenix helfrich the rhythm 28

Sam YellowSun 29

Sarah K

Steeped Letters

Todd Kobell

Trevor

Vivian Collmer

Zayn Cohen

ripen

A real wooden boy

Anonymous

Alora “Dragon” Alsleben

Anonymous

Anonymous

Anonymous

Anonymous

Growing 30

beauty 31

Ancestry DNA 32

Twig and Billie 33

Happy Place 35

Rotting in love 36

Basket Case 40

Falling apple 42

Mabon’s Embrace 43

Dagger 45

Untitled 48

Untitled 50

Untitled 52

Cadence pumpkin orchard 53

dahlia a how i love earth 54

Elizabeth Woodbury

Hudson Cox

inaz.

Farewell Summer 55

The wave 56

Dream of Time and the Time of Dream 57

k.a.m. 11 months 59

kay

Lil Joshie

Madison Jones

Myst Morgan

Pjog

Ramona S. :)

Rory Wood

S.W

Sierra/cc King

Todd Kobell

Yes

Zyra

Old Photograph 61

Thoughts o’ Mozzarella 63

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree 64

Olive Green 65

Cry 68

To my Nana 69

In The Shade 70

Starlock 72

That Old Apple Tree 73

Tuesday Morning 74

Let Me In 75

Garden of Her Mind 76

rot

Ainsley Wilson

Anonymous

Fill The Void 78

A black and blue night 79

Anonymous Snakes 80

Anonymous Waiting 81

anonymous a thousand angels 82

anonymous i am your apple tree 83

Ava Schuman

Short Story Excerpt - MASH 8076th 85

Carson Why of why you rotten nasty world 89

Cole Fletcher greer quietus 90

Don’t ask

Luna Lovegood Loves Luna 91

Ebonie Untitled 92

Emma Horrocks forest of oblivion 93

HR Supply Run 94

isabel Solace 97

KM Gemini 101

Lucy Collmer

Macy Sibley

Noelle

Honeycrisp 102

Prettiest Filth 103

Silent Rot And The Bitter Bloom 105

Olivia Muñoz Freedom 106

Ramona S. Encompassed 108

Reed L.

Rory Wood

HYPNAGOGIA - 19 113

I Lost Myself in Plastic Town 118

Sam :D 121

Sophie G. the orchard 122

Steeped Letters forge 124

Stella Gephart

Flesh 125

Stella Gephart Rot 126

Violet Matsumoto waiting 127

Vivian Collmer

The 200th Day of Darkness 128

Walden School 131

Zackary Zodrow : ) Help 132

Zyra water’s welcome 134

visual arts

Alora “Dragon” Alsleben

Ritual After Dark 44

Anonymous Untitled 22

Elijahz Tucker

Hendrix McClintock

Zombie watching The Walking Dead 62

Death of a Strawberry 84

Lucy Cantwell Faerie Mound in Retrospect 96

Lucy Collmer cozy day 117

Maddy Apple of my eye 104

Sophia Salvagno Untitled 120

Sophie Lin Gathering 133

Zayn Cohen

A mind of thorns. 38

Content Warning: The submission categories of blossom, ripen, and rot contributed to some darker themes of rotting and decay throughout this issue.

[whispered dread]

As time unfurls, a whispered dread Insidious, it’s inside my head. A fear so deep, it makes me quake, Of losing self, as years I take.

I cling to memories, to hold on tight, To who I was, when life was bright. But in this struggle to retain the past, I risk losing touch with what’s at last

Here and now, this moment true, This self that’s grown and still has room For every step into the future I take, Another part of me I leave behind, Another piece of me that slips away, And leaves me wondering, will I ever find my own way?

I hold onto the girl I was, To keep her safe, and never let her pass. But life moves on, and time is swift, And in this dance of life and death

Afraid to let go, and learn to fly, Afraid to lose myself, and grow older to someday die. Yet still, I feel the pull of change, The stirring urge to leave the shore to find a range

Far beyond the comfort of the known, To where the sky is brighter, and the sea is blue and bold. Perhaps, by letting go, I’ll find A new horizon, one that will help my life brighten

Ace Guenther

[The Wind Blows ]

The wind blows softly through my hair, The soft breeze goes through the trees making the leaves giggle,

The great gale moving the water making soft yet strong ripples, The gust twirling around making it warm yet cold, The draft making fall seem sweet, The wind blows ever so lightly making the world seem to stop.

Andy Rockwell

[Untitled]

November 2011.

I remember it being cold, just a bit.

My moms friend’s daughter, Nikki, who is like a sister to me, came over to play with me and my brother. At that time the Disney movie Lemonade Mouth came out, my brother and Nikki loved it.

I liked it too, but not as much as they did, I mainly liked the music.

I remember going downstairs with my dress up Snow White heels as my brother and Nikki followed behind me. Nikki had the guitar, my brother had a tupperware as the drums, and I, of course, was the dancer.

My mom and Nikki’s mom were sitting in the living room, watching us do a little performance of one of the songs from Lemonade Mouth.

I remember jumping in my heels and twirling, I even ran upstairs to grab one of my red tutus that I wore for dance class. Anonymous

[The Dryad]

I was walking through my parent’s apple orchard when I saw feminine features appear and melt out of a tree. Her skin was the same color as the bark, and her hair was just a few shades lighter, filled with the flowers that laced the leaves her dress was made out of. I gasped and took a step back, my armor rustling loudly. She looked over at me, shock lining her rich brown eyes. My hand went to rest on the pommel of my short sword, and I felt the weight of my concealed dagger in my bootsheath. Her face filled with fear, and she made it as though to run away.

“Wait!”

She paused and looked over her shoulder.

“Are you a—”

“Dryad? Yes.” She cut me off, the words flowing delicately out of her mouth.

I frowned at her directness. “What is your name?”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously but answered my question. “My name is Melora. What is yours, soldier?” she asked, gesturing to my armor and weapons.

“Condor.”

She looked like she was about to reply, but a large limb fell off the tree she melted out of suddenly lost a branch. Melora cried out in pain and clutched her arm as though it was falling off as well. I rushed forward and grabbed her shoulders.

“Are you okay?” I asked, incredulous.

Even though she was in intense pain, Melora still managed a snarky reply. “Do I look okay?”

I let go of her shoulders and let my arms fall to my sides. “No, I suppose not. Is there anything I can do to help?”

She paused, all wit vanishing as she thought. “Well, this

horrible termite infestation is eating away at me.” She paused. “Termites that your people brought over!” She scowled.

I waited until she was done and then said, “Well, back in Rome, we had these plants, called chrysanthemums, that repel termites. If you want, I can plant them around the orchard.”

She looked at me, surprised. “You would do that?”

I nodded and said, “I won’t let any of the trees in this orchard die if I can help it.”

She looked surprised at my determination, but Melora said, “Ok, Condor. I will accept your offer to help.” Then she stared me dead in the eye and said, “But if it fails, I will have your blood.”

The days passed in a blur of planting, and the garden was soon full of beautiful orange, red, pink, and yellow flowers.

I walked up to her tree with a basket in hand and realized I didn’t know how to get Melora out of her tree. “Uh, Melora?”

She elegantly melted out of the tree once more. “Yes, Condor?”

I gestured around to the beautiful field of apple trees and chrysanthemums and said, “I have finished. Each tree has 5 flowers around its base. That should be enough to prevent the termites from coming or staying. Has it helped?”

She rolled her shoulders. “Yes, and greatly so. Thank you, soldier.”

I nodded in response. “I brought a picnic for us if you’d enjoy that.”

Melora laughed and said, “I thought you’d never ask.”

[Demolition Day]

Aurora Maayen

The weekend is over and we’ve come back to school their demolition begins I can hear them whispering I can feel them watching Their eyes, cameras Their voices, wind

But the wind can’t hurt me, their words do . . .

I’ve always been different, that they all knew With a target on my back pummeled with insults

The pressure building, the crashing and pounding Their slanders latching on like chains I need to shout, I start to think “This wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t out”

All that I want is one little haven

One little place where the shells won’t explode

My heart’s just treehouse I keep from shaking, from rain and from thunder you relentlessly bring I pick up the pieces as you clip my wings

Showing me slowly how far I can fall

Crush me under your firm iron fingers

Show me the blunder I made

Burn the brand into my skin

Tell them to all turn away

Brush me aside

There’s nothing to see here Look upon your game with pride

What a pity a gay girl died

[Oh Crumbled Flower]

Oh crumbled flower, that drifts away softly in my hand, Why do you have such sorrow, for everyone and everything comes to pass.

It may not be now, it may not be for a long time, but everything passes.

I shall take pity on the one who has crumbled you, and I shall miss your vibrant colors, your soft petals and the way you softly danced in the strong wind. Just how everyone has their vibrant colors, their soft petals and their dance in the wind. I myself have the most beautiful dance, I sway in the winds of life and sadness, and love, and happiness. As does everyone on this earth, some people are trampled more than others, and some enjoy an easier path. But the only way to enjoy that dance, is to be around the other people in your life that make things easier, happier, and that make you feel complete.

Axle Green

Clark Cozens

My cold, shivering body, submerged in the huge pile of leaves in my backyard. They crack and crunch in between my gloved fingers. I’m afraid my beanie might get lost in the labyrinth that is this leaf pile. My frigid hands slip out of the pile and graze the frosted grass on the ground. I slowly rise from this leaf pile and stand up. “Dinner!” My mom shouts to me as she slowly steps back inside because of the cold. “Ok, coming in!” I shout with my breath being seen like smoke in the air. I slip off my beanie while I walk inside my house as a wave of warm rushes over my body. “It’s so warm in here!” I say to my mom as she guides me to the dining table in her favorite apron. What awaits me is a beautiful dinner with a nice, warm hot cocoa as my drink in my favorite mug. This is what Autumn is meant to be.

[Hiding]

I hide around the corner

As is my curse I sneak around every wall

And every curve.

My eyes are wide

Blue and bright My hair is brown Dull in this light. The kids in the hallway

Whisper and shout And I stare at their happiness

Spread all about. How could they be so joyous

On this sad sad day

Exactly five years after My mother passed away.

Ebonie

[Fly Again]

Elodie Davis

I don’t know why I am this way. I try to fit in, try to be good, but I can’t exactly sit and do nothing when they come at me, guns blazing. My only hope is that soon this grade will be over, soon I will be free. In this new place I feel I must be perfect. They don’t know me. They don’t hate me… yet. I used to exist, always restrained. I was clipped like a bird, and I couldn’t be me. I was contained. It hits me. What if I am myself? What if I try to be me, try to stand out? I am different, and that’s ok. I will regrow my wings. I will fly again.

I came here. There they are. The ones who whisper behind me, threaten to harm me, but I am new. I used to explode, but now I hold back. I am kind. She is relentless, a hurricane force. Unmoving, Unwavering, until nothing is left but a flat barren landscape. I do not tell her what I am. She would hold that against me. She leaves this place, and I have friends. I am not the weird one. We are all weird here. Now I can be me, now I can fly again.

[Beauty]

I am a Blossom I am a Beauty.

I am told again, and again, of how others see me. I feel the jealousy of others, how they stare, how they whisper How blossoms are undeserving of such love and appreciation. That we’re overrated.

I was born into beauty, i did not intend on this I’m sorry for offending you, i’m sorry i was born this way. Please understand i did not choose this

Please leave me be

Evan Hipple

[планета

I wade in the water, feeling the current’s pull as I walk farther into it. I am wearing my long *шелк dress, which is getting more ruined by the second. But I don’t care. I knew I was going to chicken out. I was so excited to go back to earth. But at the last minute, I ran off. I am almost up to my knees in the water when the wind picks up and it starts getting colder. I see an electric fishing net floating nearby and poke it with my finger. It doesn’t shock me which is a good sign but I still need to know if it is fully disabled. I quickly flip it over and see that the *Двойной a battery is completely removed. I pick it up from the freezing water and wrap it around myself hoping what’s left of the soft metal mesh will keep me warm. I spot a boulder through the fog and decide to wade out to it.

Once I get there I examine the rock covered in seaweed and barnacles. There is a side facing the ocean waves directly that has too much water activity to grow seaweed so I decide to hold on tight and shuffle my way around the boulder. I get to the other side, waves pulling at my dress while I start climbing, slowly at first but picking up speed as I get used to climbing with numb hands. Once I reach the top I wrap the fishnet tighter around me and take the ceremonial hairpin out of my long wavy brown hair. I think of my family looking for me in the *корабль my little brother wondering where I am. Just then a huge wave comes out of nowhere. I can already taste the salt as the wave gets closer and closer. I try to make myself as small as possible but I still get drenched in a powerful wave of salt, the taste burning my eyes, mouth and nose. I lose my grip on the rock and fall to the water below. At the exact time that the wave rolled out, I landed in the sand and feel a sharp pain in my back. I pull myself out of the sand. My fresh hair now covered in sand and sea foam, stars now clouding my vision, and see the sun just coming out of the clouds. As the fog clears I see

a beautiful sunset of vibrant pinks, yellows, and oranges. The colors fill the sky as pretty as my *планета can be. I wade into the water one last time promising myself to never forget this moment whatever happens next. As I wade deeper I look at the water now turning a deep shade of red and the pain in my back getting sharper as it gets more submerged in the salty water. I take one last deep breath and dive head first into the red water knowing I will treasure this memory on my next journey, wherever it will take me.

*Silk-шелк

*Double a-Двойной а

*Ship-корабль

*Planet-планета

Everlyn bagh is so cool

[The Tree Thief]

Dreams hung in the air on the cloudless night. The tree was tall and had brilliant golden leaves. The trees around it were beautiful, but not as pretty as the golden tree. It looked as if it grew starlight.

Idun, the goddess of youth, walked through the forest. Her hair was auburn colored that turned to red at the tips. A wreath of golden leaves hung around her head. The leaves smelled of childhood and hibiscus. Her eyes were amber colored and full of good natured laughter. Her ears were pointed like the ears of a wood elf and she had light tan skin. She had a few freckles on her cheeks and a childish grin. Her outfit was a dark brown sleeveless tunic, black pants, and tree bark colored boots.

The forest came into view as the sun slipped above the horizon. It created patches of sunlight on the forest floor, and illuminated the emerald green moss and ferns. Dew sparkled on the leaves.

She finally made it to the heart of the forest where the golden leafed tree grew. From it hung nine golden apples. Nine was a lucky number. There were nine worlds on the tree of life. Eating her apples gives you eternal youth. But you have to keep eating more of them, otherwise you grow very old instantly. They were very expensive and sought after by many residents of the nine worlds. Idun climbed the tree and picked the apples, then carried them in a wood crate painted with golden markings out of the forest.

She began to walk into Asgard, a large town home to many gods and goddesses. Buildings were made out of wood and precious metals. Trees were everywhere in Asgard and mountains lined the city. It was an exceedingly beautiful and large city, for Odin, the all father of the gods and ruler of all

the nine worlds, had a palace in the mountains on the edge of Asgard.

After selling all of her apples, Idun went back to the edge of the forest to a hollowed out tree that was her home. Books with golden markings, apples, and small boxes with tea leaves lined a shelf. A small flower garden grew outside the tree and Idun slept on a bed of pine needles.

The goddess awoke before dawn and went back to where her apple tree grew. But at the spot where it should have been, there was nothing. Idun’s face flushed and she had a lump in her throat. Her beloved apple tree was gone.

She looked at the sky and the stars twinkled back at her. The sun hadn’t risen yet. Idun had an idea. She could use her magic to figure out who took the golden tree. Magic coursed through her soul like a song. She raised her hands to the heavens and suddenly the sky shifted. Stars swirled and mixed flashing milky white and opaque blue. Then suddenly they all settled, but nine stars shone electric green and they took the shape of Loki. To be continued…

Freya Normington

[Pick-a-Pumpkin]

The breeze, so slight, weaved through my curly hair. My arms pale like the moon. In October, sun is rare, so we bask in it. The green fields turned brown from the colder weather sneaking its way in. The green vines on the plump pumpkins swirl around themselves the way a mother holds on too tight to their child’s wrist, but they have to let them go eventually. Finally, she releases her tight hold and lets me run through the field to search for a pumpkin.

My pumpkin.

The pumpkin that will sit pleasantly on our front porch before it begins to rot. I begin my thorough search through the rolling hills full of pumpkins galore. Some perfectly orange, some growing and green, some brown and rotting, and some white and pristine. All of these wouldn’t quite do for me. That is until I find the perfect one! It’s bigger than my head and the divots make the silhouette seem almost cartoonish. I could tell just by looking at it that its seeds would be delectable. The surface, smooth enough to carve the perfect jack-o-lantern. It’s too large for my little arms to carry, but my mom comes to my aid. She grabs the pumpkin in one swift motion. So strong and inspiring, yet beautiful and elegant. All the things I’d hope to be. She takes my hand and walks me back down the hill. Her grip, now soft and gentle, not quite ready to let go, but that’s okay with me.

[Piney x Violet]

LS

“Our Violet always has been good at judging character. This makes it no surprise that today, twenty years after they met, we are celebrating the marriage of Dr. Piney and Miss. Violet. Will you please recite your vows.”

“Honey, you are the kindest pinecone I have ever met. I’ve trusted you entirely from the moment we’ve met. I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives wrapped in you’re grizzly arms,”

Violet had to look away from Piney as she said this, as tears began to run onto her purple dress. She couldn’t even finish the speech she had written and edited so many times.

Piney lifted her chin and whispered his vows, loud enough for only the minister to hear. Their friends and family weren’t important right then, it was only between him and his beautiful, beautiful flower. “I love you so much Violet,” and their marriage became official with a quick, bashful, loving peck. Only for the two of them to share.

[garden]

she loved that garden, the splintery wood of the planting boxes that stuck to her fingers and the arable dirt, the way that the sun reflected off of the shiny bell peppers in the summer. loved the smell of the soil after the first rain, the way her skin began to carry the fresh smell of the plants that can only be described as the aroma of life, even loved the calluses that coated her hands. it was a little sign that the garden was becoming part of her just as she was becoming part of it, like the pieces of hair that begin to weave themselves into the dirt or her footprints indented in the mud. her love was poured into the garden, and the garden took and took it, soaked it deep into the soil that breathed with green from her caring touch.

even in the exhausted air of winter when she only wanted to go to sleep she stayed in the garden, covering the plants with tarps and covers so that the angry whispers of wind wouldn’t hurt their fragile selves. it didn’t matter to her that the gusts attacked her instead, made her skin red and cold to the touch, or flipped her umbrella inside out so that the icy rain would pummel against her face. she just needed her garden to survive, needed the plants to be safe so that when spring came they could flourish and grow.

spring did come, and everywhere she looked there were strong green sprouts bursting from the work of her tired fingers. still, with them came the melancholy realization that they brought nothing but more labor for her, more days bent over in the harsh sun -but she couldn’t stop, because she still loved it, still loved the garden too much to bear to think of the leaves wilting and the raised beds being empty.

so she stayed there. and every day as the roots of the plants

grew deeper and longer, she broke a little more- just like a sidewalk, concrete cracking from the pressure.

fall fell with the auburn leaves, and she realized that she had to go, had to leave the enclosure of the now faded white picket fence that she had mapped in her mind. she still loved it, maybe not as much as before, but she did, she did. she didn’t think she ever could not love her garden -that was what it had become, not just a garden but her garden- but she didn’t want it anymore. at least not for now. it had taken all of her energy, and as the curling fingers of winter beckoned once again, she knew she needed to go inside and relax.

as she gave the dirt paths one more look, she realized that there might be nothing but weeds come spring, but it was what needed to happen. she dusted away the few dried clovers clinging to her grass-stained overalls and left, the gate swinging behind her.

Lucy Collmer

[Untitled]

[Renascence]

I look back at the poetry that Little Me used to write; poems about being stuck at the bottom of the ocean and apathetic peers. I read my old journal entries and compare them to Current Me’s poems and entries. I think of the three major pillars in my life that have died, and I’m still alive (I wouldn’t call it survivor’s guilt…not really). I think of all the precious people I’ve had to leave; all the nights spent on the floor unable to get up because how can one stand if all their insides had been cried out into a bloody puddle on the carpet? I think of the years I’ve spent intentionally healing, thinking it would never work.

Now, as I sit on my bed and listen to piano and rain, I know how this piece fits with the “Blossom and Rot” prompt. See, your cells regenerate every seven years (God’s favorite number), though I think more than just my cells regenerated.

Seven years ago I was broken and scared. My life had no meaning and my only purpose was to be a target for my step father’s words, the bulls eye well worn by years of word salads, forced isolation, love bombing, threats, manipulation…any kind of emotional and verbal abuse you can think of (this did not come from just one person, either). Now, after everything has been said and done, Little Me is looking up at Current Me with stars in her eyes and a bruise on her face. “Do we really get out?”

“Yes, yes we do.” And we come out the other side stronger than anyone had ever expected. I’ll spare Little Me the details (because her past, my future, is something that would make her blood curdle), but we really did blossom. Not like an apple tree, not that kind of blossom. A Jesus-resurrecting-Lazarus kind of renascence.

Renascence: (re-nas-cence) /noun/ The revival of something that has been dormant.

[Untitled]

I stood near the door contemplating whether I should go in or not. I looked through the old, worn windows of the book shop trying to catch just a glimpse of his face. He had a whisper of freckles dusted across his cheeks, brown hair that wasn’t quite the color of the oak pillars he stood by, it looked maybe a tone darker.

I’ve stopped at the same shutter whose hinges are connected to the very window I have trouble moving away from. Frost started to form on the glass and contort what was happening on the other side of the window. I knew, though, that everyone could still see me as well as I saw them. I could describe the very uniform he was wearing in detail, or how his name tag said “Roman”.

The very moment that I decided it was time for me to read his name tag in depth, an elderly couple came through the doors of the book store. The bell rang behind them, and Roman’s voice ricocheted through the air as he wished them a good day. I went to check my watch and realized I had been standing at the window for an unwelcoming amount of time, in a disoriented haze I made the decision to go inside. I took a few steps to the door and turned the gold plated handle, the frame was on the verge of collapsing but held years of memories. The walls were lined with photographs, capturing the accomplishments of the couple that owned the store. The receipt of their first purchase was framed, as well as family events.

The shelves were dimly lit, and the room had an overwhelming scent of books. It was a warm and welcoming space. I became acutely aware of the sound my shoes made hitting the floor, excruciatingly loud and slow. Book shelves covered the walls, wrapping around the enclosure and stopping at a display of shrubs.

Bright string lights decorated the perimeter, and one of the workers had begun to stock the display with various plants. They hung up a type of hanging vine plant, it was ivy geranium. An indulgent choice for such a bright and full plant to live in a

dark environment. Without being able to bloom what might it be for, a mere decoration that won’t be able to live healthily. Moving upon instinct I started to walk faster, my feet hitting against the ground in my boots. Loudly I took my final step a few feet away from them, which they had heard because before I had noticed, Roman was there.

Roman was looking at me with a curious glint in his eyes, his hair was messily covering his forehead from the work he’d been doing all day. I’d intended to walk away, not being able to bear the uncomfortable conversation that would be held if I didn’t. Quickly turning on my heels I attempted to move as fast as I possibly could to get out, but when I felt a sudden nudge on my shoulder I stopped. Frozen to where I was standing, I looked back. He had a slight smirk on his face when he realized that I no longer had a set look of dedication and now a look of uncertainty that tried to hide my obvious blush.

“Do you need me to help you find something?” Roman asked, clearly already aware of the fact that I would say no regardless.

“N-no thank you,” my eyes started to roam across the room, making the awkward moment worse. I had already unintentionally stuttered, I might as well commit to the conversation and save the lives of a few plants. Clearing my throat to get his attention I said

“Actually, I thought you should know that you are sentencing those plants to death for keeping them in this corner.”

“Well, actually they get plenty of light,” Roman points to the sky light on the other side of the building.

“The light doesn’t reach the display, and it’s the dead of winter so you shouldn’t expect an abundance of sun to come through that hole in the ceiling.”

“Well then I would like to formally apologize, and I will get to work on moving the skylight a few more feet forward to reach the plants.”

“Why thank you kind sir, I look forward to seeing the plants live a long and fulfilled life.” Roman laughed, turning his

attention to anything but me as if I had said something wrong. I whipped my head around, suddenly aware that he was at work and I was bugging him when the bell over the door rang and another woman walked in. She was wearing a puffer coat and jeans the color of charcoal to contrast the white of her zip up. Strutting over to where me and Roman had been talking just minutes ago, she slung her arm around him looking at me with a slight amount of disgust. Had anyone else walked in they would have thought nothing of it, just an odd interaction not a threat consisting of eyebrows and somehow an attempt to jut her lashes at me.

Roman recoiled at her touch, pasting on a smile to fulfill his duties as a boyfriend. Something I just learned he was. I silently slid away from their interaction and walked over to the other side of the store looking for the book I came in here for, mind reeling from me and Romans conversation. He was flirting with me and had a girlfriend, I was just reading into it too much. That’s the only thing that made sense, I wasn’t being led on. Picking up the book I moved to the cash register, Roman was alone and now bagging up the purchased items assisting the cashier. I set the book on the counter and waited for my goods, officially running out of patience for today. Grabbing the book, I walked out of the store, my mind set on never coming back. I opened the cover and a flower flew out of the pages as well as a piece of paper. The petals were vibrant and looked like the very same flowers I was trying to save from the never ending trap of darkness. Picking up both items, I open the paper.

“I’ll make sure the flowers are tended to and ‘live a long, fulfilled life.’

I promise.

Roman K.”

[An odd dove]

Olivia Muñoz

The birds fly high. The worms dig low. I cannot stay, I cannot go. I hide in the shadows. I am afraid.

Wings over beak head buried deep and soon I will fly far from this place, of hunt and chase.

My name means “Olive Tree” So that’s what I’ll be!

Adorn my feathers with the blossoms and leaves of the beautiful olive tree

…My plumage may seem weird to you, Fluffy and bouncy and coily and black But I assure you, I am what I am. My vision is blurred, And I’m pretty stubby. I sleep in the day, and mornings and evenings are when I play!

So as my wings extend and blossom, once again I will be a dove.

[the rhythm]

phoenix helfrich

The waves crash into each other. Crash.

The vines intertwine Wrapping around each other Twist.

The whales sing their dark song It shakes the ocean floor Oooo

The wind blows the fields Whoosh

I watch the tip of the trees tops As they lose their leaves Crunch

The fire crackles and pops In the dark and foggy light Pop.

I sit alone as i swaying in the rhythm of the trees The wind calming my nerves making bumps appear on my arm because of the cold. Tsk tsk

[YellowSun]

I watch as the clouds drift over the sun

Covering the blazing streams

I feel the warmth drift away.

Yellow

I can remember the smell

Of the yellow crayon Sun in the corner, Its waxy color printing itself on the page.

Yellow

Pennies and dimes for that lemon tart

My mom made sure I enjoyed, The smooth sour taste

Melting in my mouth.

Yellow

I stare at the yellow tulips, As my mom lovingly places one in my hair I can smell the sweet scent

The soft petals brushing my skin. I watch as the big yellow sun

Dips into the ocean

Its colors mix with the sea, Unbothered by the beauty dripping from the sky. Goodbye Yellow Sun.

[Growing]

An empty field, short grass wavering in the gentle wind. Come sprout, push your head against the hard dry soil. Break the ground open, and peek your leaves over the walls of dirt around you. Rise and grow, from a sprout to a small plant, forming your branches as your first leaves flicker away in the wind to new lands. Watch your roots bury under the soil further, eating up nutrients from the compacted grounds. Carrying nutrition high into the tallest branches and the highest leaves. Create a crunchy sweet and sour treat, fallen from the highest branch, to the brim of your stem. It sits still in the wind, on the ground, waiting for someone to give it a try.

Sarah K

[beauty]

Steeped Letters

the sun whispered in the morning sky, its colors quietly blending with the tunes of night sky blues.

cinnamon and nutmeg swirled through steam to rest upon her tired skin and mused curls. a small breath in and out as the oven door creaked open, a rush of warmth embracing her like an old friend. a tray of plump and sweet muffins sat looking over to her. each with specks of ruby raspberries, and brown sugar crumble dusting the round golden tops. reaching a nervous mittened hand to the tray, she takes them out to rest on a knitted towel. letting them cool and wait for hungry lips aside morning coffee.

with a sigh and smile, she wandered off to the living room. sinking her content smile into her favorite pillow, the well-loved couch molded to her body. lazy arms reached to drape a quilt, tucking herself into her own hug. dreary dreams filled her mind before she rested her eyes back to sleep.

the sun just now reached between the evergreens and hills.

[Ancestry DNA]

Todd Kobell

She walks in brushing her teeth

And her boyfriend says “Are you ready to leave?”

But she isn’t yet, So she doesn’t. She makes her bed, she was always neat. And grabs some things she wants to keep. A photograph of some Christmas Eve. The dress she wore on her wedding. The little hand prints kids give mothers. See- she only had a minute, felt like a week. Where she walked around the house. The house in sleep. where family laughed and danced. And these fragile things that make us weak. Then make us strong. The reason we sacrifice so much unseen. and her boyfriend said In the softest speech.

“Come on love, let’s get you some peace.” And she blinked a smile. The kind you need, As the doctor said “This is where she leaves” And her family stood like a mantelpiece, Of the world she built, And the love they’ll keep. Then a soft exhale, Some machine just beeped. Between life and death

Just one breath you breathe. And she left with her boyfriend. Where she’d longed to be. And her grandson said “Say hi… from me”

[Twig and Billie]

The sun blinded Twig as a cloud of insects took off before him. This is it, he thought. No turning back.

The coyote-boy took his first steps forward as he blinked out the blinding rays, the rough ground leaving paw prints every time his boots trampled the dirt.

He didn’t even notice the root in front of him before–ACK!! THUMP!

Twig had gotten a snoot full of dirt, and he felt his eyes start to water.

He wasn’t crying, but his nose just fell onto a hard surface, so that checks out. However, he did not appreciate the familiar voice of a laughing girl.

“Hahahahaha!”

Twig hauled himself up, picked up his bag, shook off the dirt, and spoke.

“Hilarious, Billie.” he said unamused, looking her directly in her owl-yellow eyes. “Seriously, why is it so funny when someone falls?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” she laughed. “By the way, I’m coming with you.”

“What?! Why?” Twig asked, startled at his half-sister’s sudden statement. “You’re only nine!!”

“And I’m one of FOURTEEN children, and I need some actual space.” Billie stated, walking closer to Twig. “Isn’t that why you’re moving out, too?”

“Yes, and I prefer to be alone.” Twig said sternly, trying to walk away from Billie. However, she rammed her head into his thighs, and he crashed into the ground again.

“OW! You’ve got to stop doing that, Billie!” Twig told her, hauling himself up once again. “Because you chose to shift into a moose, you can literally break glass with your head!!”

“Well too bad! I’m still coming with you!” Billie declared yet

Twig thought for a moment. Ever since Billie had been born, she’d been stubborn, short-tempered, reckless, and if she wanted to do something, it was hard to get her to change her mind. “Fine. But if you get yourself killed, I’ll kill you!” Twig told her. Billie smiled, and quickly grabbed onto Twig’s clothes to climb onto his back. “Yeah! Off we go!” she exclaimed. “Wait, how does that work?”

“Huh?”

[Happy Place]

A winding path

Into the trees

Sharp green grass

Buzzing with fat, fuzzy bees

The splash of the creek

The bridge lined with our strides

The little merry-go-round crooked

From many dizzying rides

A calloused log where we

Spilled so many words

The reaching branches

Covered in cheerful, singing birds

Our laughter ringing out around

The high flying swings

And the monkey bars

With grimy iron rings

Over the gravel trails

We scream and race

I am so at peace, In my happy place

Vivian Collmer

[Rotting in Love]

Zayn Cohen

The images flash in my head the destroyed bodies of innocents. Their only crime was unrequited love, The sweet feeling turned bitter into fear, The fear of the flowers that blossom from those infected by this disease.

I guess it’s good we’re just friends for if there was anything more, me and him would have been lost instantly.

Taiyo, My best friend. He has saved me more times than I can count, I wouldn’t be alive if not for him.

We spend our time running from the infected. They can’t spread the infection, but We still must be careful in order to avoid violent outbursts.

After months of setting up camp in barren forests, we stumbled upon an abandoned house, it was cramped but in our eyes it was perfect.

We explore through the rooms, a feeling of comfort filling our souls. We soon realize how tired we really are, I get a blanket from my bag and lay it on the ground as he lays in the bed

“There’s room up here you know... You should get a good night’s rest so you’re ready in the morning” I lay next to him in the cold room falling asleep as the feeling of safety consumes me.

The next morning, I look at him admiring every detail, the way his nose hooks, the little mole above his lips. His beautiful soft lips…

I brush some hair from his face. He stirs in his sleep, his brown eyes fluttering open, his hand cups mine. I move closer, our faces only inches apart. He looks at me like I’m the only one

in the world. I lean in my lips planting a soft kiss on his, he kisses me back for a moment before suddenly moving away letting go of my hand. The look on his face is no longer one of caring but of hesitance “Noah?” As I hear his voice saying my name my heart beats out of my chest before I hear the dreaded words “this isn’t right…is it…?” Suddenly the beating slows and is replaced with pain. “If it’s wrong, why did it feel so right? “ I replied. “ Noah. It shouldn’t have happened…”

I fidget with my hands, as I do I see the thing I never expected to, A flower blossoming from my skin, we stare at each other, both of our mind’s racing. “you’re my best friend Noah, that’s all.” His voice was dark and cold. For the first time I didn’t want to be his friend, I wanted to be so much more, I wanted to be his boyfriend, his everything but the infection will make me lose my mind by the end of the day. “I’m scared” my voice shakes. He pauses for a moment; we’re both lost, unsure what to do as my mind begins to cloud from the flowers filling my head, giving me a headache. I pull Taiyo into my arms. He looks away before wrapping his arms around me, I can tell he needs the comfort as much as me, all the hiding, running and fighting truly took a toll on us.

We sit in silence tangled in each other’s embrace, “I love you Taiyo” I say shakily he doesn’t reply and simply just nuzzles into my chest. My fingers run through his hair for what feels like hours, the flowers growing from my hands drop petals onto his head.

He looks up at me and shivers. “What is Taiyo?” I question.

He reaches up to the flowers now littering my face. “I’m sorry Noah,” he says.

“Don’t apologize you saved me” I say, leaning into his touch.

I look at him through the eyes of the body I’m slowly losing touch of, and I’m reminded of why I love him. My body begins to go limp as the infection spreads.

“Noah…” he tears up and pulls my limp body into his

arms holding me close and kissing me, the kiss bittersweet filled with passion and caring, I can feel his real thoughts showing through.

But the kiss was too late to reverse the effects, the infection has taken over my body

He looks at me with guilt but all I see is Taiyo.

My Taiyo.

[Basket Case]

A real wooden boy

I wonder how you’d feel

With a big round wicker basket over your head. Maybe you’d peek through the inevitable byproduct of its creation.

Slits in its frame so it won’t hold water. Dead weight, that is. So the breeze can whisk away the dust.

I wonder how you’d feel carrying around a basket of apples. Great big red ones, So big you’d wonder if they were even apples. You’d think it’s heavy, And complain that it isn’t picturesque.

I wonder what you’d do

If a thousand wicker baskets floated around in the sky. Would you look up and question why they’re there, Or maybe you’d act like it’s normal because you don’t know if anyone else can see them.

I wonder what you’d think of me if I had a great big wicker basket over my head. Would you be confused?

Because I normally don’t have a wicker basket over my head. You’ll have to look through the inevitable byproduct of its creation.

I wonder what I’d feel if I didn’t have a wicker basket over my head.

If I didn’t see them floating in the sky. If I didn’t hold a big one in my hands Would I be happier,

Or confused?

Because its weight is gone. Because they were always there before.

I wonder what the wicker basket feels like on the inside. Does it feel?

Maybe rough and tumble

Like a knocked down bird

Or like the smooth surface of a glossy, bitter wax-coated apple

[Falling apple]

Anonymous

The flower was a fruit but, it was just a flower with no fruit in sight. Flower petals start growing one by one, but in the end they drop one by one. Throughout the 6 years of its life it forms into a flower, after the time it spent as a flower it’s time for it to be a fruit. Through the years it went an apple is formed. The apple continues to grow every day. The days turn into days and days turn into weeks, soon weeks are over and it’s now been years. Apples all over the place it’s ready to be picked off its stem. The ripeness is in its shine. After a few days have passed the apple falls telling people there ready for the next step to their life.

[Mabon’s Embrace]

The Autumn Solstice marks the coming of fall. When apples are at their crimson ripeness. It is finally the season of the witch. When it is the season of the earth. Picking apples from the orchard. Celebrating the coming of the harvest. Reds, golds, oranges. Colours of the fall.

Reds of apples, golds of leaves. Leaves are falling. Rituals after dark.

Front of the apple tree where I stand. Judged by all but me, my friends and family . Here I am and forever will be. Performing rituals after dark

“Dragon” Alsleben

Alora

[Ritual

After Dark]

Alora “Dragon” Alsleben

[Dagger]

Content Warning: Suicide

I don’t know how it got there. I was on my way home from a camping trip and I stumbled upon it. Coincidence that’s all. It was stuck in that withered tree that had once been beautiful; we were akin in that way. The dagger, the tree, and me. It had lost its edge, the handle all but rotted away. Still even in such a dismal state there was something else… it glinted in the moonlight as if resisting that old tree that imprisoned it. Like me it refused to be forgotten. It was a broken thing really, a fragment, but it remembered what it was like to be whole. Once it had purpose. Now? Now it was discarded. I carved it out of that tree, took it home with me.

I brought it to my dad who, upon closer inspection, started grinning like some sort of addict who got his first glimpse of weed in years, and decided that salvation was beyond him. The sheer enthusiasm he was emitting as though it was some sort of physical matter clouded around him. A little while later he started rambling off about how this was some Native American relic, possibly older than the tree that had housed it. (He knew the one I had described to him) Though it did leave reason to wonder why he hadn’t found the dagger if he’d been there before. Why anyone hadn’t for that matter, it was a fairly popular trail; But at that moment all I could feel was happiness for my father who had been a history buff as long as I’d been alive.

That night he began the process of restoring the dagger, something easier said than done. The blade was obsidian, and it was easily a hundred years old. I left him to it. The next morning I found my dad collapsed on the sofa. The dagger waited patiently on his desk. There was something… wrong about how it sat there, as through it hadn’t just yesterday been falling apart in some dead tree. Now it stood like a prized museum piece, regal and self important. Dad had removed the rotted handle, leaving only the blade. One does not fear a sword but the hand

that wields it. In this state it couldn’t hurt anyone, right? Three weeks passed and it sat there on that desk, complacent to just sit and wait. Each day dad worked on it, and each day it looked more and more like a weapon designed to take lives.

I was no longer comfortable with it in the house, nor was I thrilled with how my dad looked at it, as though it had taken over his whole world, every thought and feeling inside him. Why did I ever pick it up in the first place? At the time it had felt so right, but now… I spent as much time out of the house as I could. I hung out with friends and did clubs and after school activities. But every night I would return to find it there. I should have left it, I don’t know why I didn’t. Months and years went on and my dad finished the restoration, he eventually moved on to other projects. It was put in the upstairs attic safe under lock and key. I had almost forgotten about it.

Until that day when I found it stuffed inside my backpack. I was petrified, unable to move or look away. How had it gotten there? Had my dad put it there… no he was out of town this week. It was nestled in between my notebooks and my extra sweater. That was when I realized that something was wrong. No wait, that’s not true. I had realized that something was off the day I bought that thing home with me. I don’t know how it got in that old withered tree, but I do know how it got in my house, and it was all my fault. Taking my notebooks under one arm I leave the dagger in my bag. When I get home I toss the bag down the local well to be gone with it. That night my dreams are haunted with regret, and I wake up, covered in sweat and tears. A dagger clenched in my right hand. Next thing I know the daggers in my throat, but it’s my own hand that has done this. As my vision blurs I see a man in coved in furs and old hide garments. He’s tall and lean, but his eyes are yellow slits. He grins at me revealing long pointed canines. “Thank you for returning this to me” he chuckles to himself and continues. “You have given us purpose again” The lights in my eyes fade away as I succumb to the silence and the night sky.

I don’t know how the dagger came to be in that old

withered tree, nor do I understand how it got out of the safe in my attic. It somehow found itself gripped in my hand, and as I faded away, it was taken from my cold dead hands and put into another’s. One whose convictions were far more sinister than my own. At that moment I knew, there wasn’t a thing I could do. I fall from this world.

Anonymous

[Untitled]

Charles fidgeted as he walked down the whole empty halls of the facility. Sure, he was a mass murderer, but this place could make anyone realize just how puny and insignificant they are. Hell, he even started praying a week after he got here. He didn’t care if no one was listening. He thought it was comforting to know somehow he was talking to someone. Now that he was thinking about it, he might be going crazy. Charles shook his head and looked forward as the three - Charles, the right guard, and the left guard - turned a corner.

“Y’know, you’re lucky as sh**,” the guard on the right spoke. “I’ve been wanting a chance with this thing for ages.” Charles looked at him confused before they arrived at the cell door he was to be in the entire day. Charles watched scared and confused as the door opened and he was pushed inside. He looked around for a second, then at the floor. A black creature with six eyes was hiding under a bed in the middle of the room. “Go to bed and sleep.” He heard over the speaker in the room. Today was confusing him more as it went on. Hesitantly, Charles made his way to the bed and got in. It was quite comfortable, better than his bed: firm and soft pillows, fluffy blankets, and a firm mattress for the back. The only uncomfortable thing was the fact that there was an SCP under the bed. Suddenly thoughts flooded Charles’ mind of ways the SCP would kill him in his sleep. Not like it was out of the question.

“It’s safe. Just sleep.” He heard the speaker again. Charles turned to his side, flinching at the six eyes now staring at him from the edge of the bed. They both just stared at each other for what seemed like hours. At one point, the creature had started to climb onto the bed with Charles, which caused his anxiety to spike and start shaking. Oddly enough, something he’d never experienced in the facility - as of before now since he was fairly new. The creature lay down next to Charles like a cat, despite being over four feet taller. Almost instantly, Charles started to calm down. Maybe it was because the thing was

somehow purring. Then it happened, it shapeshifted into. Black cat. Two eyes instead of six, four paws, the whole package. Charles carefully reached out, hesitantly, and gently pet the creature. It purred louder as he continued, and without thinking, he picked the creature up and brought it closer. The thing seemed irritated by this, and a bit scared at first, but luckily relaxed. Charles was happily asleep in just a few minutes as the creature lay awake in his arms.

When Nelson woke up he found himself in the middle of a large circle of people. Tied to a table as they all stared down at him. Every one of them had a pure white animal mask and robes.

“A detective… you want to join us?” Someone spoke. A large humanoid figure started walking through the crowd, wearing a black robe and mask. “You lie.” They growled. Nelson tried to move but he couldn’t.

“I… I do, I swear.” Nelson stammered, cursing at himself in his head for doing so.

“Are you scared you’re going to be caught?”

“No. I want to join, I, uh, I just stutter a lot.”

The black robed figure loomed over him, seemingly staring at him. Trying to ring out the lies flowing from Nelson’s lips. The figure stood tall once more, its head pointed down at Nelson,

“Very well, welcome to the family.” With a simple nod, four members of the cult ran over and untied Nelson. Nelson rubbed his wrists as the hooded figure pulled his cover off. “Now that you’re a part of our family, we no longer need to hide ourselves from you.” The guy smiled, it was sweet and warm. Nelson looked around as everyone else started to follow suit and take off their hoods. Nelson recognized a few of the members but couldn’t recall from where or what their names were. Nelson stood as multiple members went over and picked up the table he was on with odd ease and carried it off to an unknown place. People started to converse with themselves as Nelson took in the scenery around him, putting it to memory. There was a church feel to it, except there were glass walls keeping out the dirt, so it was clearly underground. At what seemed at the front of the room, there was a large stage that had a singular chair on it. Lined along the walls were multiple grouped holders that had candles on them, all lit.

“So how’d you hear about us?” A voice asked, Nelson turned around. It was a small, chubby woman. A nice smile on her face, brunette hair tied up into a bun, and small glasses perched on her nose.

“I, uh, walked past some detectives talking about it and it seemed very interesting and welcoming.” Nelson faked a smile, chuckling a bit out of habit.

“Oh, I guess that’s nice.” The woman visibly retracted from Nelson, her smile now nervous instead of the warmth from before.

“Those detectives, respectable as they are, are very… irritating.” She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “We’re here for a good cause, y’know? We only want happiness but they want to stop us!” The woman pouted, biting her cheek. “Don’t you agree?”

Nelson stayed silent for a moment, thinking of what to say that wouldn’t give him away in the slightest. “I, uh, agree. You’re here for a, uhm, good cause so they shouldn’t, uhm, be getting on you guys for, uh, this.”

“You, uh, really do stutter a lot, huh?” The woman jokingly laughed and Nelson nodded. If he was going to stay here, he was going to have to sell it.

“I’m just a really nervous person… I guess.”

“I can tell, no worries though! We’ll fix you in no time.” The woman smiled and laughed softly before walking away. Nelson didn’t want to know what she meant by that, it gave him an off feeling. Nelson stood there awkwardly for what felt like hours before the man that was wearing a black robe beforehand stood up on the large stage in the room and started to speak.

“Followers of our lord, welcome to the daily sermon. It’s our luck that today we have a new follower among us all.”

Nelson felt dread fill him, praying -in a figurative sense, he’s never believed in anything in particular- that he wouldn’t have to go up there.

“Would you please come up and introduce yourself?” The man smiled, his hand outstretched towards Nelson as the large crowd started to cheer. Nelson silently groaned as he made his way towards the stage, taking his sweet time. Once up there, Nelson could see every single head turned to him, all eyes staring into his. His heart rate sped up as his breathing went shallow, his hands shaking.

[Untitled]

The crisp air hangs around me, grating my nose into shades of sensitive red. The must of shriveled leaves rides along the steady breeze. Large lone trees embrace the depressed cloudy sky, spiraling up from their spots on the modest curvature of the farming hills.

[pumpkin orchard]

Once upon a time there was a pumpkin patch and there was an apple orchard right next to the pumpkin patch. Then a couple came to look at pumpkins for their grandchildren and some apples to make their apple pies for their thanksgiving dinner. The grandchildren were playing with the pumpkins and carving them while the couple made the apple pie for their thanksgiving dinner. They are waiting for the children’s parents to come to eat dinner and give the children their stuff to stay the night. The parents come and they eat some turkey and some other thanksgiving foods, then grandma pulls out the apple pie and mm mmm it smells so good, and when you take a bite you can taste all the sweetness of the sugar and the tartness of the apple and the crunch of the crust. The parents give their kids their stuff so they can stay the night. The kids finish carving their pumpkins and the grandma picks up one of the pumpkins and the grandpa picks up the other one while the kids get dressed in their pajamas. Grandma makes some hot cocoa for everyone, even herself. She made some brownies and all of them sat on the couch and watched Nightmare Before Christmas. They drank the hot cocoa and ate the brownies. Then the kids slept on the couch while they listened to bluey and fell asleep.

Next morning.

The kids wake up to the smell of pancakes. The kids go to the table to sit down and their grandma hands them pancakes and pours some syrup on it and they gobbled it up and said thank you grandma and she smiled and said no problem. They went to get dressed then their parents came and took them home

To that day they still visited until their grandma died and they loved her so much and every time they visited she always made brownies and pancakes for them and always got them pumpkins to carve and some apples to make apple pie and now those kids always make that same apple pie and carve the pumpkins when they are sad.

[how i love earth]

dahlia a

mother nature, how i love the variety of flowers strung in your soft, tangled, willow hair.

father sky, how i adore your white wistful beard, and your freckles scattered on your face like a map of stars. brother sea, how spunky you are with your strength as strong as the biggest waves. sister sun, how jealous i am of your long red hair, of your bright smile that leaves anyone feeling warm for as long as the season of summer. auntie moon, how beautiful your eyes shine, how unique you are with your perfectly placed birthmarks. life, how i love to live.

[Farewell Summer]

The wind takes me away with a melody soft piano and a melancholic voice tangle up in the golden locks of my hair the sun kisses warmly on my lips and on my shoulders

A farewell from summer.

Elizabeth Woodbury

[The wave]

A wave came in from the ocean and at first it didn’t seem threatening. It started growing in size and got bigger and bigger as it came closer to the island. The wave raised up and crashed down on a jungle, to be fair, the forest needed it because it was very dry and had not rained in days. The wave continued on and got closer to the town. The villagers started to get worried because there were no high places on the island to go. The wave crashed down on the town and the scared people. The wave started to get smaller but didn’t show any sign of stopping. The wave only got to twenty five percent of the island before crashing down. People thought it was over until a wave came from the other side to crush the entire island in one go. That is the story of the wave.

Hudson Cox

[Dream of Time and the Time of Dream]

That one life. A dream, even– fading away because of time.

There’s that one moment where everything changes, and time shifts. You start to learn, to experience, and grow out of old habits that younger you once found so cool and so awesome. You begin to lose your innocence after experiencing what you thought was reality, and you no longer think all the shows you were obsessed with as a kid are cool anymore. Not that they aren’t cool, but they just don’t feel the same.

It was as if you lived life through a different world and that little brain–once so tiny and full of possibilities– is no longer in that world. It’s starting to accept reality, and in that reality, your favorite show is different and not as cool or awesome as it once was. The dolls you ended up giving away start to not hurt as much anymore, but maybe just a little– because you want that same feeling you felt on Christmas Day back. Things you once did start to fade, and you no longer remember how it was done. Being at that young, tiny age felt different, like we were invincible. These angelic beings, who had this view of the world that was so far and so vast, not even the size of the universe itself could compare.

It feels like a fever dream just thinking about it. Even down to the crazy jumps and twirls, the “look at me! look what I can do,” we used to do and say, because we wanted so badly to fly. Running so fast, the wind would be stronger than us, and we couldn’t hear a thing. Watching raindrops race down the window, cheering because your raindrop won. Falling asleep in the car, and somehow knowing at that one turn that you’re home, but still getting carried to bed anyways. Those little mem-

ories in the distance seem to fade away. Though every now and then we get a little ring from them. Or maybe, that’s the sound of the clock in the background letting us know, time is of the essence. Soon those memories won’t even be memories. They’ll be dreams. Dreams that never happen again and that fade away into the distance.

“It’s time,” And there is no more time. Only the dream. Or is there?

[11 months]

In December you caught my attention. Hours, minutes, weeks I thought about you. When we got talking we became fast friends. It’s as if it was meant to happen.

Soon January rolled ‘round you had feelings for me, though I didn’t find out until 10 months later. Still, we had real conversations, not just 4-word responses.

Then came February we slowly started to move on with our lives, except I didn’t. I remained stuck on you. I couldn’t stop looking for a reason we stopped talking.

By March someone new came to distract me, and for five months I pretended to be distracted by new people. However every time your name was mentioned, my illusions of being over you vanished.

Then it was August, and I waited all month to see you, just to try to convince myself I moved on. Except it felt like the first time seeing you again.

During September I spent countless hours talking to you, thinking about you, talking of you. All I could do was plot ways to casually into you, socialize normally, and subtly drop hints.

It’s October now, it’s been 11 months, almost a year, and still, you remain on my mind.

In December you caught my attention, I should have done something more about it.

k.a.m.

[Old Photograph]

I like the moments that can’t be fully captured. Moments that make you wonder what is happening. If you found an old photo with muted colors and stained yellow edges 50 years from now, you wouldn’t quite get it.

You can’t smell the aroma of the bread baking in the oven, so you don’t know why Sarah is making that odd face. Her eyes are closed and her head tilted up. She looks like she’s sleepwalking, but she’s not. She was taking in the smell of the bread, engrossed by its scent.

Ellie is faced away from the camera holding a glass of water. It’s not for her, but for the dying plants you can’t see. The dim lighting makes the photo too dark. You aren’t able to see the plants tucked back on the windowsill.

The bright lights in the corner of the image aren’t cigarette burns or smudges, they’re the flames from the tall candles on the table. Next to it is a large basket full of ripened apples. The photo, too faded that you can’t see the bright reds and greens of the apples or the worm living inside one of them.

You can’t tell, but Sarah, Ellie, Clementine, Daisy, and Paris had all gotten back from the apple orchard earlier that day. That’s why the ends of their pants are covered in mud and rotten apple seeds are stuck to the bottom of their shoes. That’s why in the other corner of the photo Clementine and Daisy are cutting an apple. It’s too blurry to make out, but they’re making an apple pie.

Paris pulled out her old mint green camera and took a photo of all the commotion. All her friends running around the kitchen on that nice cool, but sunny day. The harsh glare of the sun beaming through the window adds a highlight to the chaos. This photo is for them and only them to understand.

[Zombie watching The Walking Dead]

Elijahz Tucker

[Thoughts o’ Mozzarella]

I’m having Thoughts o’ Mozzarella

Eating that, I’m with the fellas

I’m cleaning up my plate but I’m not Cinderella

Eating nothing raw so I get no salmonella

I want that half-burned cheese

When I bite it, feel so pleased

Covid so no fees

Getting food is such a breeze

Mozzarella food

Eating, showing gratitude

Mozzarella beatitude

Greatest side I ever viewed

Eating them delicious goods

Finished, you ain’t out the woods

Multiply it if I could,

If you should, I know you would

Gimme Mozzarella

It’s the greatest food I’ll tell ya

Eat it when I please

Yeah I eat it up with ease

Lil Joshie

[The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree ]

Madison Jones

“Don’t behave like your mother” I’m told, I know I can listen

The stench of cigarette smoke seems to suffocate my nose I have no desire in angering my lungs

I’m too young anyways

“Don’t let your mother ruin your good nature” They say, I’ve turned into a verbal punching bag

She compares me to other children

Better children

I sit with tears in my eyes as I bottle feed her youngest daughter

“Learn to live without your mother” They repeat, I should listen

Though I find myself longing for the hurt she brings me I can’t seem to understand

How could I cry for my mother to leave then cry for her to come back?

“Stop acting like your mother.” they shout, I never meant to hurt the ones I love

But it’s so hard when i’m being told, rather than taught Apart of an unbroken cycle

I’ve become the woman I promised I’d never be

[Olive Green]

“...Hey. It’s been a bit.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it has.”

“I hate to do this, but I need a place to stay. My mom…”

“I heard. It’s a small town, news travels fast.”

“Right. Listen, I am so, so sorry to do this. But I don’t have a key, and--”

“Alright.”

“What?”

“I’m at Ms. Thomas’ old place now. Do you remember where that is?”

“I think so.”

“I’ll send you the address.”

“Oh. Okay. Thank you.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

There was no world in which I believed “no problem”. The whole situation was a problem. I had never not been a problem in this town, and today more than ever before. There was a moment of silence after I knocked. Then the door swung open and Olive was there. Hair shorter than it had been when I had last seen her, with strands dyed green. She’d never been brave enough to dye her hair before. I wondered if the girls down the block had mocked her like she feared they would.

She stood in silence in the doorway, looking me over in the same way I did her. I wondered if I looked any different in her eyes, or if I was the same girl I had been three years ago. For too long only wind filled the air between us. I took a breath.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have--”

She cut me off. “Stop. You just learned that your mom is hospitalized. I’m not going to make you do this now. Come in.”

She moved back into the house, opening the doorway for me to enter. All I could do was nod, “Right,” and follow her inside.

The hall was dark, lit only by the fading spring sunlight

of evening through the windows in the living room. She’d never liked using overhead lights when she could avoid it. The outside of the house was the same babyblue it had been when it was Ms. Thomas’, but the inside had been painted a more pleasant sage green. It occurred to me that Ms. Thomas must’ve passed while I was gone. She’d always liked Olive; she was the only student who had waved to her every day on her way to school. I wondered if the house had been left to her in the will. I doubted Ms. Thomas had anyone else to leave it to.

Olive had fixed the place up nicely, or at least as nicely as budget would allow. The hall leading in from the front door was clean, if barren. It looked as though she’d taken out a wall between the kitchen and the living room, connecting them into a larger open space. The cupboards which would’ve likely held collections of china had been replaced with more practical plates, and where black and white photos of a long lost husband would have been were now all too familiar pictures of high school friends and events. I wondered if I was in any of them. The house was nice, lived in. But it didn’t feel like Olive.

“You can sleep on the couch.” She gestured to the ancient looking pleather sofa, probably Ms. Thomas’ or something from a garage sale. “Blankets and pillows in the closet. Bathroom down the hall. Help yourself to anything in the fridge or cupboards.”

“Okay. Thank you.” I plopped my backpack down onto the couch and turned back to her, but she’d already disappeared into her own room. I didn’t blame her. She was already angelic for tolerating me in her home. No reason to expect she would want to spend any more time around me than she had to.

I felt bad about eating her food. I only had a cup ramen, but I was still taking something of hers. She didn’t come out of her room to eat. She’d probably already had dinner. Her family always did eat early. I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or relieved at her absence. It was for the best; she was right that now was not the time to unearth the past. But another time might not exist. Tomorrow I’d be leaving her house, and after

that, who knows when I would see her again. If I would be seeing her again. Like three years ago was today, the emotions came crashing back. Feelings beyond thoughts, just the crushing of my lungs closing up and my bones stretching outwards through my flesh. There was no logic to fit together, no words left in my mind, just the overwhelm of every organ aching. The need to do something, anything, but I was locked in place. Sitting on a dead woman’s pleather couch with an empty bowl of cup ramen, and Olive just a room away, the closest she’d been since I left three years ago.

Myst Morgan

Oh why do you care for me

For whenever you call for tea

I see tears in your eyes, That tells me you want to cry.

Pjog

[To my Nana]

Ramona S. :)

Sunny bright days, Or even cloudy warm days. Sometimes even on cool days.

The water on the shore, My feet in the sand. Shells and sand dollars.

Cheetos in my hands, Cheetos in seagulls’ beaks. 2 hour car trips in the jewel blue car.

Nana and me, all on the beach, Running down to haystack rock. Lunch at the blue restaurant.

Every weekend she could, my Nana takes me, and sometimes my brother and cousin, out to the Oregon coast, not even using GPS. She drives down the roads, and lugs with her a laundry basket of sand toys. The beach is deep in my blood at this point, and definitely in my nana’s.

Love you Nana!

[In The Shade]

In the shade I smile at the sun. In the shade I don’t have to talk to all of these people. In the shade, the soul of this tree hums. Its apples ripen for me to eat. There is no reason to leave.

In the sun, are others not quite like me, Too busy to notice the leaves, Too busy to notice this tree.

In the field behind me is this scarecrow, He has no friends, Yet I still watch him teetering on his post I think I love him. But I can’t talk to him, … because I am in the shade.

In the dark I shift between the shades of night, To see everyone rest their eyes, I wish I could close my eyes, I wish I could rest.

In the window my apple tree blooms, Its little flowers stretching toward the sun, Crackle snap pop, And it gives me a bright red apple, If I dipped it in poison, Could I kill this little miss snow white.

Or could I be like this miss, With the perfect hair, And the perfect looks, But I know it’s impossible, … because I am still stuck in the shade.

I look to the scarecrow spinning in place, In his field, It seems like the loneliness has gotten to his head, Maybe I should step out of the shade and help him.

Maybe if I stepped out of the shade, I could share this tree’s fruit.

Or maybe if I tried hard enough, I could step into the light.

Rory Wood

[Starlock]

S.W

Look into the night sky child

What do you see?

The familiar stars, Planets, constellations

You might think “that’s it, that’s all that’s out there”

But child, let me ask you this

If I told you there was more, would you believe me?

If I told you that the true vastness of the universe is near infinite, would you believe me?

Or would you be content to sit in your own little bubble believing lies and fakery?

Ah…the right answer good

Then let me tell You my child

Where we are right now?

It’s just the first step

We have so much more to go in this journey

It won’t be easy…we’ve already made mistakes

But we can learn, we can persevere, and we can explore

Child this is only the beginning.

[That Old Apple Tree]

I had always loved that old apple tree. I loved the way it hung over our garage, the apples red and shiny too perfect to pick. The way my grandma no matter the pain she was in always went out to choose the ripest apples for her famous apple pie. I miss that apple pie every day. If I were to describe it, think about a hug from your favorite person and you haven’t seen that person in months and when you see them it’s just like wow, I’ve missed you so much I never want you to go, I never want to be alone again. That is the best way I can describe it.

One day my grandma told me she wasn’t going to pick apples today, she felt too tired, and she would tomorrow or the next day. I already knew what was happening, it had been setting in for a while but when she said that my heart broke, her favorite activity, her favorite past time and now it seemed like a distant memory to her, a dream. Ever since that day the apple tree had never looked the same. You would expect it to be full of apples. I mean no one was picking them but it was empty and the apples that you could see were in one spot or another, rotten some rotten all the way through. The tree was dying, and I knew it. I didn’t want to admit it, but I knew deep in my heart that my grandmother was close behind.

During her last couple of months, I tried my best to remind her of all the memories we had by that tree. Her lifting me up when I was young to help her, playing hide and seek, even as I got older just sitting by that tree crying softly into her arms. When she did pass, I cried, and I cried hard. I wouldn’t pick apples with her anymore, I couldn’t cry in her arms, I couldn’t help her make her famous pies. I had lost her. I knew it was bound to happen, but she was content with how she lived her life, that was all that mattered. Now as I sit here at the roots of the healing apple tree reading her old recipe book, I hear something hit the ground. I look ahead of me. The first apple of the season, the first apple in months even and I can almost feel it. I am almost positive my grandma is right next to me. Smiling and walking peacefully, no pain, no sorrow just walking around the tree picking apples once more.

Sierra/cc King

[Tuesday Morning ]

There’s a woman in her 20’s Who will live until she dies

All trauma, hope, and Pepsi signs A mangled scrapbook of a life. there’s: every man on every phone

That good luck song by Chappell Roan. This feeling, that, I’m on my own. Blue ice cream trickling down the cone. there’s 14 million people here. And all of them are crystal clear. glassy eyes and bleeding hearts. And all of us “falling apart”-and there’s nothing sad or lost in that. Or it’s so sad is immaculate, Or sadness is the point? who cares.

It didn’t last but… we were there. Knowing there’s something I was born to do. knowing I’ll never know if that was true. A chef eating a cigarette.

No one survives, just hasn’t happened yet. This perfect joke that god’s been sending.

To live a life that’s always ending. With a heart that’s breaking whilst it’s mending. when no matter what you give, you’re lending. There’s miracles in every street, And most of them I’ll never meet. What a perfect way for things to be. where I was here. And that was me.

Todd Kobell

[Let Me In]

Yes

Disguise the sound words settle in my skin Drowning in the depths of your blue eyes I just want you to want to let me in. Why won’t you let me in?

Your brick walls I’ve pushed on fail to fall down red ruddy rock beneath my fingernails I can’t stop now because if trust is unspoken then what was that moment when your eyes were guarded?

I still love you regardless.

[Garden of Her Mind]

Auburn fills the garden of her mind, sweet petrichor drifting from leaves. Her feet pad gently against soft earth. She wanders, content. How long has she been walking? She could try to trace the hours in the sky, if she could see it. There must be a sky above to house the sun, whose light drips down through the thick canopy. The golden drops fall to the ground and cast shadows across each root and fallen leaf.

She crouches down to inspect the base of the nearest tree, admiring how the roots spill out and into the earth. Tracing the bark with her fingertips, she wonders how deep they stretch. Wonders if there’s any way to see. Any way to know without uprooting the whole intricate web. Without the roots, her garden would be dry and withered, all brittle stems and pale day.

Every root, she knows, is old. Old and firm with no chance of sudden break. Rot and decay may come one day, slow and sticky processes eating away at each carefully cultivated root. If the rot comes she will sit with the dying tree and rest her head against the trunk. She will, perhaps, press its leaves and build a mosaic next to her heart.

Zyra

[Fill The Void]

It’s empty again

You’ve run out of things to love

Once it’s empty, You have to start over

New friends that fill the void.

New look that feeds you energy

Reinvent yourself so you don’t run out

Or else,

The empty space will find its way to you,

Feed on your emptiness

Until there’s nothing left

Except for a girl’s silhouette

Crying in the shadows

Wishing her void was full again.

Ainsley Wilson

[A black and blue night]

The calm current of the water washed up and down the shore

And crashed into the base of the bridge

The silvery light moon reflecting in the waves

All sight feeling of joy are wiped away

The quiet of nothing makes the place seem relaxing but the cold breeze in every breath can make anyone shiver

The soft yellow glow from the street light shine just to be absorbed by the blue and black of the gloomy night

The sound of the water is the only thing you can hear in the echoing silence

A place once beautiful and romantic has been damaged

Swallowed by sorrow of a million mistakes

That can’t be undone or rewritten

In any way

[Snakes]

Anonymous

I woke up to hisses.

My eyes focused on the piles of snakes scattered around me. All green, snakes slithered around me. I layed on thin grass with the snakes on my chest, arms, and legs.

One slithered over my face, its scaly, rough bodied texture brushed my nose.

One that lay on my arm curled around it, another slid by my ear. Though the snakes seemed harmless, I made sure not to move abruptly and startle the snakes.

I don’t understand why snake is an insult, they don’t deserve the hate they get.

Snakes are peaceful creatures, they only fight in defense. There was an odd calm to the snakes slithering around me. I decided that I would go back to sleep. I tried standing up.

The leaves crinkle under my feet

But they don’t make that cliche crunching sound

Instead it’s more of a wilting hopeless sound

Like stepping on the corpse

Of something that was once beautiful

Falling leaves remind me of artists

Artists paintings only sell as they die

Leaves become most beautiful as they die

They turn golden and crimson and sienna

But within moments, it seems

They are hurtling towards the earth

Towards the unforgiving pavement

Only to lay there

Waiting

For some absentminded person

To come along and crush their expectations

Soles against souls

Why is it

That leaves catapult themselves

Towards their demise

Only to cry out in regret

And make the same mistake

Next fall

[a thousand angels ]

Sitting under the tree

A thousand angels fly above me

A thousand hang above me

The wind blows through my hair

As I stare a thousand miles through the field

I need to let go

And watch your wings rot

I stare a thousand miles away

I feel myself getting sick again

A thousand angels fly above me

And I hung a thousand more

[i am your apple tree]

i am the apple tree that craves for your hydration. enthusiastic to feel your sun rays shine down on me. your water that keeps my roots alive, to continue my growth as one. i contain many, delicious apples, intending to nourish you, to fulfill you in ways you may need it. i hope that my affection will satisfy your sweet tooth, your needs as well.

when you’ve finished, i hope that you can replant my seeds so you can see my eternal love for you.

i hope to be the never-ending, growing cycle for you. to love you endlessly, and dearly to my core.

i am alive with feelings, and parts of me may die out and rot. when you’re not around, the worms begin to enter the rotting apple, yet they have no belonging in my affection. my treat was never meant for them. i panic about your absence, and find no reason to stand continuously, for a loved one who won’t bother to come around any longer.

you will come across the path, where i used to live. you will see that i am no longer there, & i will see you from above, in hopes that you will remember the taste of me.

[Death of a Strawberry] Hendrix

McClintock

[Short Story Excerpt - MASH

8076th]

NEW YORK TIMES - MONDAY APRIL 18TH, 1951.

From the bloody 125- mile Korean front, last week there were reports of some of the most vicious slaughter in modern warfare. On April 12th the Chinese, with a brutal disregard for human life, charged into the front lines for round 2 of their spring offensive. The UN won round 1 just 12 days ago. As of now the Casualties have hit 80,000. Mobile Army Surgical Hospitals are overrun with patients and places to put the deceased. The worst case we’ve seen yet is the MASH 8076th. They’re the only hospital to be directly on the front lines and the only hospital that’s seen so much death in just a few short days, even Jesus himself would be afraid.

It was a cold windy night in Korea. The moon provided enough light to see where you were, but not where you were going. The time was now 0:18 and doctors and nurses were piling out of surgical tents into the frigid cold night. Many were covered in blood and other bodily fluids that they couldn’t quite identify. Many of them headed straight to the showers hoping to wash the day away, while others were far too tired to care about the fact that they were covered in someone else’s blood and went directly to their tents. There were two people who still hadn’t moved an inch since their last surgery. They were silently leaned up against the wooden wall just outside of Post OP, neither one of them brave enough to say something first. The tense atmosphere of the room made the silence feel all the more deafening. Maggie sat there listening to the owl’s whine and the crickets sing.

“I’ve been a Nurse for five years and I have never seen anything like that.” She speaks softly, her gaze fixated on the operating room doors; she didn’t bother to turn her head to face Henry, but she hoped he had heard what she said. He nods his head even though she can’t see him.

“Nobody prepares you for the casualties of war,” he responds, his voice horse and barely there, she can hardly hear what he’s saying yet nods, nonetheless. She turns to face him; her skin is pale and pinkish under the surgical lights, her eyes tired and weary yet she still manages to offer him a half nod.

“Is there any way to really prepare a person for war?” she asks, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness and longing. He notices the lull in her voice and directs his attention towards her. He wants to say something to make her feel better, but he can’t because he knows that there’s nothing to be said or done at a time like this. Instead, he sits beside her admiring the way her messy brown bangs and half tightened ponytail add to her already captivating presence.

“Do you ever get the feeling that we’re losing people faster than we can save them?” She asks him. He tilts his head to the side pondering her question. In his eyes there’s not really a way to answer that but he still tries wanting to give her the clarity she deserves. For a while the room is quiet while he thinks. She gazes her eyes over his disheveled appearance and smiles to herself, he’s the only person whom she can still look at and feel okay even if he does look like he just stepped out of the looney bin.

“Y’know if you take a photo, it will last you longer,” he says with a hint of a smile on his face. She rolls her eyes enjoying the brief moment of comfort before the reality in front of her sets back in and she turns her focus to the dirty hardwood floors that presumably hadn’t been washed in two or some odd weeks and closing her eyes to center herself in a world of chaos.

“Do you ever think the longer we’re here the easier it is for us to forget the people we’re fighting so damn hard for?” He hummed in acknowledgment, his leg shifting ever so slightly so

it was touching hers. It was a small but noted act of kindness.

“When was the last time you saw your family?” She asks softly, opening her eyes to find his blue ones staring back at her.

“It’s been at least a year and half since I last saw my Pop,” he responded longingly, missing the comfort of his family and his home back in Maine. She gently places her hand on top of his knowing all too well what that feels like.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her tone softer and more intentional than before. “I didn’t mean to make you sad, it’s the last thing anyone in this place needs any more of.” He looked into her green eyes that were once filled with so much prosperity and hope, yet now when he looks to her for reassurance, all he can see is his reflection in her eyes.

“It’s okay,” he assures her, lacing his fingers with hers “I try not to dwell on the things I cannot control.” He says softly as he watches the way a small smile spreads across her face. she nods understandingly, squeezing his hand gently.

“You know something silly?” She asks, watching as he quirks an eyebrow.

“Always.” He says with a soft smile on his face and warm eyes sensing that what she’s going to say won’t be silly in any regard of the word.

“I just wanted to make a difference,” she said, her voice strained and weak, almost like she’s letting her walls come down.

“And you are making a difference, Margret,” he says softly as she looks down at their interlocked hands and begins to play with his bracelets

“She was nine years old,” Margret said, “I lost a nineyear-old Korean civilian,” she says, sniffing, her gaze still focused on their hands.

“Mag,” he said gently, “look at me.” She kept her gaze trained on the bloodied specs covering her scrub pants. She stayed silent, not trusting her judgment at that moment. He sensed her hesitancy and gently grabbed her chin forcing her to look at him.

“Just because today was a bad day doesn’t mean that you aren’t making a difference.” She nods her head, her green eyes swirling with emotion and her bottom lip trembling ever so slightly. He sighs knowing now is as good a time as any for a distraction. He stands up and offers her his hand; she furrows her brow in confusion but takes his hand anyway.

“How about a cup of coffee, doll?” He asks, leading her out of Post OP and into the frigid cold air of the night towards the mess tent.

Ava Schuman

[Why of why you rotten nasty world]

Carson

“I’m called rotten, nasty, gross, and vile. But at the end of the day it’s them who fit those words. I wish to stand up, I really do. But I’m scared that if I follow through. I might be crushed by the fists of those rotten, nasty, gross, and vile beings.”

I cry out as I fall from the tree and feel the bittersweet embrace of the soft lush grass.

[greer quietus]

my thoughts are churned grinded

turned into a fine powder i know when they go i knew her face my minds eye is cloudy this thick haze leaches it wants out

pressure builds beneath my eyes madder pours around me my pupils have darkened my skin pulls away it wants out early but i force it to stay the smell of rot craves little by little clogged and drained thoughts of a dreaded decay

Cole Fletcher

[Luna Lovegood Loves Luna]

It has been Luna Lovegood’s one goal in life to fall in love with someone carrying the same name as her, ever since she read about it in the horoscope of the Quibbler. So, on October first, the day everyone knew was a good solid day, she set off to find her other Luna. The first place she searched was Diagon Alley, However, about halfway down the alley, past Olivander’s and The Gringotts bank, it came to her memory that she had never heard of another witch named Luna. She’d have to venture into the muggle world.

Don’t ask

[Untitled]

Apples grow And grow And grow

Up on trees nearly touching the sky. Then they plummet down And down And down Towards the dirt. When they hit the ground they sit And they wait And wait And wait

Below their tree. They begin to rot And rot And rot

Until they turn brown. And then they are nothing. Gone into the ground.

Ebonie

where am i?

[forest of oblivion]

my thoughts are lost in the fog of confusion and the haze of frost.

my breath is ragged, my lungs are fried, most who enter this forest have died.

my feet are two stones clashing on the soil; my frostbitten fingers start to recoil.

the lifeless boughs sway in the wind but i do not feel it against my skin.

i take a break, sitting down on the root; i hear a flutter and an owl hoot.

i close my eyes, lean against the tree, the last thing i hear is a whispered “you’re free!”

Emma Horrocks

[Supply Run]

“So, we’ll do this again tomorrow then?” Ian asked Liam.

“We should,” Liam replied. “We’ll start earlier and go further.”

Ian nodded his head, preparing for the words that he already knew were about to come out of Liam’s mouth.

“Will you come with us tomorrow, Lydia?”

Ian rolled his eyes.

“Umm,” she replied. “I don’t know. I kind of want to organize all the medical tools you guys have and the ones that I have to see if there’s anything else we need.”

“You can’t do both?” Liam asked.

“Going on supply runs is your thing, Liam,” she laughed. “Not mine.”

Liam tried to hide his disappointment not only from Lydia, but also from Ian’s disapproving gaze.

She opened her mouth to keep talking, but a figure appeared close behind her.

“Behind you!” Liam shouted.

She turned around, meeting the Infected eye to eye. Its hands were outstretched, trying to get a hold of her. She pulled her knife from her pocket, trying to get a good stab in its heart, but it wouldn’t stop moving. Its eyes were wild and hungry, yet focused on Lydia. To the Infected, Lydia was just a potential meal. It wrapped its hands around her shoulders, getting ready to take a bite out of her.

Liam ran towards her with the intention of pushing the Infected off her, but before he could she kicked the Infected in the stomach. It fell back, and before it moved again Lydia stabbed it right where its heart should be. Immediately, it stopped moving and fell to the ground. Lydia let out a relieved sigh and put her knife back in her pocket.

“Where’d that come from?” Ian asked, confused.

“I don’t know, but there’s probably more around so we should get going,” Liam replied, not looking at Ian. “Lydia?”

Lydia was standing over the Infected, inspecting it. “My little sister had this sweater,” she said.

Ian and Liam went over to take a closer look at the Infected. It appeared to have once been a young woman. She was wearing a blue sweater with white stars embroidered into it.

“It was really cute. It was her favorite sweater that she owned, she wore it all the time,” Lydia continued. “I wonder if this girl loved it too.”

The three of them stood over the Infected, wondering if she liked the sweater. She had a crystal hanging around her neck and faded streaks of pink in her blonde hair. Ian wondered what she used to look like, what she really looked like, not the rotten, muted version of herself that he saw in front of him. He wondered what movies she liked, what music she listened to, if she was introverted or extroverted. He wondered if she was someone who thought the idea of the world ending was ridiculous and laughed off the idea, or if she was a survivalist that worried about the end of the world and tried to prepare for it.

“Maybe they would have gotten along,” Lydia said, crouching down to get a better look at the girl. She ran her fingers over the sweater, which looked like it had once been soft, but now it was torn and dirty.

Ian and Liam looked at each other, both confused by the sudden vulnerability Lydia was showing. This was the first time Ian had heard of Lydia having a sister.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” she sighed, snapping out of her thoughts. “They’re both gone now.”

[Faerie Mound in Retrospect]

Lucy Cantwell

[Solace]

At thirteen he told her that she would grow up to be something new loud enough to take up space and full like redwood trees only two hours away; in the backyard. He said that she would grow up more than he had the chance to.

At twenty-two he coughed in his rocking chair. The porch Was his only home and she’s been finding fragments of his mind in half finished flower gardens Where the only thing that remains is decaying petals, but she can’t clean them up because he liked the scene. Now she looks up to him and attempts to create permanence fills peony holes with potting soil.

At thirty-seven they measured the immeasurable. The world fell like crumbling infrastructure, the porch started to rot; only she watched how it grew into fertilizer for his flowers, His calculations; two days short. June is where he became aware of time and time became aware of him

They noticed important wrinkles bound his hands to silk spinning, and preserved the home by dashing sea salt around perimeters

evaluated enough numbers for two lifetimes

At forty-five us turned into her, and ghosts that inhabit his piano

Repair repair repair keys.

Echo-y wrenches that screw her heart shut a little bit tighter, “go ahead and bury me too, I made a spot for both of us in the roots of your favorite trees”. Children run on their flowers which makes him cry; cry in harmony. He liked minor chords and she likes the memory but there are too many rotting earthy lives around to focus on recollections. Collages are helpful for processing, so why doesn’t she dry up the garden, press flowers and glue lace

Instead she hides in endorphins, no, no not chemicals Though her body can decide to distract itself from messy Strings, gray and black feelings

Her mind doesn’t and she watches his life throughout her days.

Slowly the years blended together, and seasons no longer hit, like breathing in the cold air and realizing that you in fact Are living. This is your life, your first chance, last chance. Octobers can pass and feel like nothing, transitions but oh you are doing it She says.

In August, she heard his voice at dusk eight times. He spoke of small things in the hazy pink like the feeling of a thorn prick, while she created the big things, from his sentences that he couldn’t say. Does your skin stretch a lot when you grow old?

The months started to pass in his mind, and he stopped seeing the children because his eyes couldn’t bear the sight of youth anymore. So instead he listened, and wept to the sound of new

words and sweet tunes, all the while they both knew that was it.

Long sentences became short ones, in his shakiness he stopped using his hands, silk spinning turned into the slow approach of permanent worries, weeks of cloudy weather amongst spring sun rays

Bye bye bumblebees, the flowers are weakening

Her birthday came, forty-six, and since then he stopped talking. He slipped slowly away into himself, into his home by the redwood trees where the roots curl themselves around his limbs the way she could’ve held on. The home ate up his body first, and the trees created enough wind to spin a tornado, drive his mind into the ground they mentioned this to her before but it was months in advance,

too early for her to know anything

Would go wrong. No more evening walks, no more “perfect places”. He stopped talking, she stopped playing Lorde on the car stereo And instead sends prayers up to the sky in hopes of gluing the blue back together, “Lord help me live in these deathly four walls.”

He used to talk about death as if he had experienced it But she was the only one who watched him spoil his own mind.

Thinking about the end too much brings it closer, like learning to drive

Dad I’m going too fast, I can’t stop The stop sign coming too soon, but you’re already focused on it so you can’t go any slower. Fifteen years: she lays on her stomach and he sits in his chair, Declutter your space please. Are you projecting? Only small dialogue, small words small world.

His

At

fifty

An epoch overtook Orange smoky skies hung low over her planted trees, stunted the growth of any new life

That had hopes of staying near, scapes of green jungles opening up below to reveal her graveyard of disconnected memories, the product of two glass lives. Connected to the earth yet separated bodies, clashing minds waging a war on each other from some -

Two twins

Destined to fate

The void enters

One remains.

Sleeping soul

Like the stars in the sky

The constellation, Gemini.

Once united, The soul is gone

The body remains. Not who you once knew, A monster in his place.

“This is your fault. You’re to blame.”

Forced to live a life

One that’s not your own Your brother gone. Now you’re all alone.

[Honeycrisp]

Lucy Collmer

How many times have I returned to you

Like the crashing waves on a stormy day? When the leaves turn in autumn I fall to you, wanting back May

You were as sweet as honeycrisp Or soft jazz and morning rain But now, as long as I’m at your call You don’t mind inflicting pain

It was after a year the first time, But the days seemed to shrink Between when you had another You said your love couldn’t think

As metal hits dry dirt, I realize How wise those words were Since my wide, adoring eyes never thought you’d return to her

But my love has disintegrated slowly Each time that you’ve been caught Into this dust and pale dirt And now I’m left with thought.

And it’s so clear now, As our love, like fruit, rots That you deserve to as well, Under a tree

Sweet as you used to be In your final resting spot.

[Prettiest Filth]

Shining apple in my hand

Waxy surface, smooth to the touch

The perfect catch, the golden child

I bring the apple closer to me

Sinking my teeth into its juicy flesh

My jaw goes slack

The apple falls out of my hand

It hits the ground with a thunk

Appearances can be deceiving

The apple is rotten

Macy Sibley

[Apple of my eye] Maddy

[Silent Rot And The Bitter Bloom]

As time goes on

The flower once bright and tall, grew bitter and brittle

Petals curl, touched with death’s embrace

A bitter breath taints the air

Time devours the flower’s life with no trace

Rotten words spew from the mouths of those nearby Left not to be picked

The silent rot fills the cracks of the flower’s weak grace

Left no choice but to let this consume its life

Death must take you someday

I knew that.

Just didn’t know it would be today

[Freedom]

A cage opens, fresh and new. The cage closes, rusty with dew.

The rabbit enters, And shall leave anew.

Fresh grass crunching underneath your paws, I wonder what it’s like to feel your claws. Rabbits, faster than the slyest fox, Still can’t hear me when I walk, Pawprints, pretty hard to recognize, I will spot you with my eyes.

This beautiful meadow, as bright as a rainbow, Will not save you now.

A constant hunger plagues my kind, similar to the one of the human mind. Fast and swift like the wind itself.

Faster than even you could manage. My paws hit the ground real hard. You turn around and yet you are too late.

This is not up for debate. I am worse than the sneaky crocodile Greedier than the mouse in the human house I will leave your bones behind for someone to find

And sleep again for another night. You hibernate

And that makes you weak My cave, damp,

Depressing, sad and mossy.

But think of all the fun I’ve had! My paws are hurt, my claws are chipped, and as another human’s rabbit is set “free” I will continue to eat carelessly. I, the wolf, will continue to eat.

Olivia Muñoz

[Encompassed]

Content Warning: Negative

Self-Talk

Loud. No. That’s not right.

LOUD

Too loud. My Mother Is too loud.

I try to be loud, but nothing comes out. Panic stabs into my thoughts, Like A Million Tiny Knifes. Tears sting at My Eyes And my thoughts begin to

Just like an old, Broken Building.

Abandoned, left to be overrun by weeds.

I think I’m broken.

Too broken to repair, Too broken to try.

I can’t breathe.

Waves of,

“You Aren’t ENOUGH.”

Roll over me,

Me in a sea of worry.

A sea of “You are in TROUBLE.”

I’m fine, Everything Is Fine.

That’s what I try to say…. But, Honestly?

The World moves Too Fast.

Spinning out of control. Out of MY Control. Too fast to catch up, Too fast to try.

Too fast to be a good, WORTHY Kid.

Left behind to be

Hung On A Rope Of “Calm down, You’re making a Scene.”

I always mess up. Always.

Now I’m trapped, encompassed.

In my own terrible game.

My own game of Dread. And thoughts.

My own game of,

“You aren’t worthy of Enjoying life, just like everyone else.”

Left behind,

Ramona S.

[HYPNAGOGIA -

19]

Ae choked on mucus and phlegm, her nostrils and eyes shot open as she lifted them from the pool. Her surroundings were made from concrete, smooth amber rays of sunlight cast over them. Creeping over abandoned visions.

“PЯØLØИGIИG ЭИGIИЭ” had been painted vertically onto the wall, fading into shadow as it stretched toward the enormous ceiling, it’s beginning characters only loosely visible.

Beads of fluid seem to have spilt over the cement surfaces, when the world first began to settle into entropy. She could not remember how she’d gotten there, spat into that deep slumber. She hobbled from something like a grave cartilage creaking after a long stasis. Before her was something vague: like an office, or a hospital, devoid of place and time.

She began a long walk. The cloudless sky leaving pillars of shade onto the urban nothing. She was alone. The world seemed indifferent, as if it had given up after its failure to be perceived or inhabited for lifetimes. As if a person could read the contents of libraries, build skyscrapers, and play any conceivable game of cards: amounting to a grain of rice in an ocean of oblivion when the world had been empty.

There wasn’t exactly silence, as much the dull, agonizing hum of machines, polished by ages of constant toil, the echo of doves and moths as they perched, and the sound of stagnant air, punctuated by breath and heartbeat.

Wishful architecture loomed, layers of eggshell and vermillion had been peeled away. Hard edges had been long since smoothed by departed winds. There lived a dormant melan-

choly: the fear of being watched accompanied by the scent of dry moss.

The usurper of stillness continued her journey. She went across buildings with tall windows, down steel staircases that clicked in the shifting temperature, over courtyards that seemed too vast.

An orchestral whine carried faintly across sheets of air. There it laid. The Zenith: IИDIGØ Ь31: a supercomputer: a work of unfathomable complexity: the reaching digits of a larger omnipotence.

“THЭЯЭ ЧØu ΛЯЭ . . . THЭ LΛ5T ØF ЧØuЯ KIИD . . . THЭ FIИΛL 5PЭCK ØF TЯuЭ 5ЭИTIЭИCЭ . . . DЧIИG THIИG.”

“What are you?” “ЧØu CØuLD ИØT uИDЭЯ5TΛИD.” “...”

“I ΛM ΛИ ЭИGIИЭ ØF GØDHØØD . . . I ΛM, ШHΛT ЧØu

MIGHT HΛVЭ CΛLLЭD Λ DЭITЧ ΛT 5ØMЭ PØIИT IИ ЧØuЯ PΛ5T: THЭ ЭЖTΛИT MЭMЬЭЯ ØF Λ PΛИTHЭØИ THΛT PØ55Э5ЭD Λ

HIGHЭЯ IИTЭLLIGЭИCЭ THΛИ ЧØuЯ ØШИ.”

“And, you are called… Indigo?”

“I ШILL FØЯGØ FØЯMΛLITIЭ5 . . . THЭ PØ5ITIØИ5 ØF

GIVЭИ CLu5TЭЯ5 ØF DΛЯK MΛTTЭЯ 5uGGЭ5T THΛT ЧØu, uИDЭЯ THЭ DЭTЭЯMIИЭD PЯØCЭ55IØИ ØF ЭVЭИT5, ШILL

HΛVЭ ΛLШΛЧ5 ЬЭЭИ IGИØЯΛИT ØF ШHΛT ЧØu ΛЯЭ . . . ΛT THЭ

GIVЭИ MØMЭИT.” “This is true.” “ЧØu 5HØuLD KИØШ THΛT THЭ5Э ΛЯЭ THЭ ØuTCØMЭ5

THΛT ЧØu ØИCЭ IИTЭИDЭD.”

The wanderer gazed in confusion, a set of frightened eyes rolled over the great obsidian screen. It was like some temple to the esoteric thing that it was. Its practicality: its modernity, a work of startling beauty. She knew it went deeper and further than what she could see.

“It’s all... abandoned?”

“THЭ DICЭ HΛVЭ ЬЭЭИ ЯØLLЭD MΛИЧ TIMЭ5. THЭЧ

HΛVЭ LΛИDЭD ØИ THЭIЯ LØШЭ5T FΛCЭ. ЧØuЯ CØИ5TΛИT

ЭЖI5TЭИCЭ HΛ5 5IMPLЧ FЭLT THЭ ЭFFЭCT5 ØF ЭИTЯØPЧ. I

ШΛ5 ИØT CЯЭΛTЭD TØ ЭИ5uЯЭ ЧØuЯ CØLLЭCTIVЭ ЬЭIИG. ЧØu

HΛVЭ 5TЯЭTCHЭD THЭ TЭЖTILЭ5 ØF MØЯTΛLITЧ FΛЯ TØØ

THIИ. ЧØu ΛЯЭ THЭ LΛ5T MЭMЬЭЯ ØF HuMΛИITЧ.”

“What?”

The day had felt far too long. Prisms of amber radiance began to turn magenta, lavender, and Indigo. In the distance she could see something like a transport: a little room with canvas seats and fluorescent lights that somehow still let out a pained hum after eons of stillness. The name of a location had been printed onto its side:‘5ЭИLØKΛ’ it said, in a font that may have once been modern.

She shifted her weight, managing to pull a heavy switch, layers of rust like sand under her nails. The little room followed its path. She slipped in as the doors slid closed.

Hours felt like days which felt like weeks. The only movement was constant automation as she glided past dry fields of grass, populated only by tiny black pine trees.

“ЧØu ШØuLD HΛVЭ ΛLШΛЧ5 GØИЭ THI5 ШΛЧ. I CHØ5Э TØ ΛЯЯΛИGЭ ЧØuЯ 5uЯЯØuИDIИG5 5Ø THΛT ЧØu ШØuLD, HØШЭVЭЯ, THЭ CHЭMICΛL ЯЭΛCTIØИ5 ШITHIИ ЧØuЯ FØЯЭMØ5T CØЯTЭЖ, IИ5IИuΛTЭ THΛT ЧØu CØuLD ИØT TЭLL ЧØuЯ5ЭLF ШHЧ.”

“You follow me.”

“I ΛM ЭVЭЯЧШHЭЯЭ . . . PЭЯHΛP5 IT ШΛ5 TØ CLЭΛЯ ЧØuЯ MIИD . . .”

At last, motors hummed and lights winked. Dawn began: not but the cosmic movements of things that were larger than

humanity could build.

The doors opened like a pair of eyelids. Ae was met by a set of bronze statues: people in coats, depicted with paternal grins, holding lilies, terriers and globes.

“I MΛDЭ ΛGЯЭЭMЭИT5 ШITH THЭM . . . THΛT I5 ШHЧ I

ШΛ5 ЬuILT . . .”

“For what?”

“I CЯЭΛTЭD ШØЯLD5. . . ШHЭИ ØLD ØИЭ5 GЯЭШ DЯЧ. . .”

“How many?”

“ИIИЭTЭЭИ.”

“Why?”

“ΛCCØЯDIИG TØ THЭ PØ5ITIØИ5 ØF GIVЭИ ЭLЭCTЯØИ5

DuЯIИG GIVЭИ MØMЭИT5, IT ШΛ5 TØ PЯØLØИG Λ DЯЭΛM.

ØИЭ ШHICH ЧØu LØ5T 5IGHT ØF IИ ЧØuЯ FIЯ5T ШØЯLD.”

“What was it that took so long?”

“uTØPIΛ : ΛPØTHЭØ5I5 : TØ Λ5CЭИD.”

“I ΛM THЭ MØTHЭЯ ΛЯΛCHИID ЧØu ШЭЯЭ 5uPPØ5ЭD TØ DЭVØuЯ”

“This is the end, and you didn’t tell them?”

“IT ШΛ5 ИØT MЧ PuЯPØ5Э.”

“And now?”

The sound of air continued, driving her deeper into quiet lunacy. Behind the haze, she noticed a structure. Concrete placed on top of itself, forming what was once a shell. Its weak point: a central processing unit, cast beams from beneath ruin, glowing a cool white, like a lighthouse in fog .

“THЭ HΛMMЭЯ HΛMMЭЯ PΛIИTЭD ЬLuЭ.”

[cozy day]

Lucy Collmer

[I Lost Myself in Plastic Town]

Rory Wood

I lost myself in plastic town.

I forgot about that, just for a moment’s peace.

Metal plastic hats dance free.

Crafter oh will you please. I lost myself on the road to nowhere

A free invite.

Oh, my eyes dropping tears, Just like a sink dripping mud. I lost myself in plastic town.

Free of worry but should be worrying.

Gloved hands hit hard.

But I, a gloved hand will give a hand

Will give a hand until I have no hand left. I lost myself.

Lonely but happy in life’s pretend.

I lost myself on the road between nowhere

Once again.

In plastic town, a be kind sign

Swings like the plastic rope

Killing many with its whip.

In this plastic town

This anxious player wails something horrible. I pray for his well being.

Just like I pray that the devil won’t outlive God. I lost myself in this Plastic’s town.

Crowding the streets, watching how this crowd growls at each other.

I sang this song just like a bird had fallen,

From the sky with glasses unalike. I lost myself on the road to nowhere, Maybe that’s a good place to start my hike. I lost myself,

This is what this plastic place is about. You’re here until you can sense it. Sense what your life is about.

[Untitled]

Sophie Salvagno

[:D]

Sam

There in the middle of my yard

A stump remains

A tree that once towered

200ft of majesty

Cut down before it could fall on its shadow

In a sad fate.

Now its grave stands a remnant of what once was.

As the men who cut the tree

Clear out

Leaving bark and dust–

The blood of the once tall tree

My mother and I gathered its remains

I gaze from afar

Watching the Bluejays swoop down

Eating the almonds I had left

The sky looms over me

As the wind carries gentle songs

With the rustling leaves

I settle by the garden

The cucumber plant flows over the fence

Like spilling water.

My bare feet rest on the worn deck

Rough and forgotten.

The chipping paint threaten splinters

A reminder of time passing,

Or life continuing

Even in the shadow of loss.

[the orchard]

Sophie G.

Something has died in the orchard.

I can smell it, but I can’t see it. I can feel it too. It’s in the way the trees whisper in the wind, and then still as I move between their trunks. I’ve searched every inch of the orchard—between the roots, in patches of grass, in puddles of dirty water, and even in the branches of trees, expecting to see a distorted face suspended among the plump fruit. Oliver was concerned at first; he searched with me for the first couple of hours. When the orchard revealed nothing, his concern grew to annoyance. He does not mention the smell.

I think I’m beginning to lose my mind.

The first rain of the season settled into the soil and yet the smell did not wash away. It lingers in the air, thick and sickly sweet. I gathered all the rotting, mushy fruits from the ground and burned them on a bonfire in the yard. They burst in my hands and covered my palms with their sticky, cold insides. One apple, and another, popping and crackling as they landed on the flames. Oliver watched me from the kitchen window, his face blank.

Before I prepared dinner that evening, I scrubbed my hands until they were raw.

Oliver did not touch his plate.

The bonfire still smoldered beneath the rain. Through the window and the gathering dark, I could see the faintest suggestion of Oliver raking through the coals. I waved at him, but he did not see it, or he ignored me.

That night, I wake to the smell of rot in the bedroom, and Oliver is gone.

No light comes in through the curtains, though I sense it is near morning. The air has a stillness to it that speaks of hours spent unmoving in the dark. The smell is thick, and seems to em-

anate from the blankets, the floorboards, every particle of dust. The house is silent and vacant.

It is morning when I finally give up. I check beneath the bed, in the attic, in the closet, in the pantry, in the cellar; there is nothing out of the ordinary. The blankets smell of washing powder and the space between the torn-up floorboards is empty. My chafed hands are now bloody and full of splinters. I make my way into the orchard just as the sun is beginning to rise.

The coals lay dead and wet under the clearing sky. I wander between the twisting trees, only aware of one foot in front of the other until I come to stand in front of the tree at the end of the row—a pretty, shiny apple tree with a knot in its trunk. The smell is utterly unbearable. I get sick right in front of the tree, vomiting my dinner from last night up onto the grass. It’s so strong I fear I may black out. But I manage to make my way back to the yard and fetch the long-handled, polished woodcutting axe that leans against the back porch.

I slam the axe into the wood again and again and again and again. The trunk buckles under the weight and I realize it's hollow. Yellow sap oozes forth from the gashes, pus from a wound, signaling an infection. Finally, the darkness of the hollow opens itself to the morning, and I let the axe fall from my hands. Oliver rests within the trunk of the tree. His shoulders and torso are crumpled in on themselves to fit inside the small trunk, and his face sags. His eyes are open, bloodshot, and dull. A fat, hairy fly sits at the corner of his wilting mouth.

“Hello, Adeline,” Oliver says.

I pick up the axe.

[forge]

The gates wouldn’t let her in so she had to jump over the cobble walls.

Her leather boots scrapped the jagged stone and the smooth soles didn’t help against the moss. Huffing and coughing, the trespasser dug her calloused fingers into the stone grooves, hoisting herself up and over right as a cacophony of howls and claws echoed too close behind her as thorn sharp cries rang in her ears. With goosebumps trailing down her spine and baited breath, she waited. The night sky watching her as stars shifted above her, as if they all had placed bets and were watching the show. Wind brushed the crouched figures rosy cheeks and played with the wide hood she wore. Waiting for one, two, three more minutes she straightened, listened, and sighed.

Warm lanterns lined the pebbled path before her, casting it in dim watchful glows. Lighting the myriad of shadowed trees aglow, as the moon kept the rest of the forest hidden. The trees followed the path far, over the hill, round river banks and gardens. But watching over each and every natural wonder sat a grandeur, cracked castle.

Patting her pockets, the trespasser takes out a thin golden chain with a wide golden ring linked onto it. A large green gemstone was sunk into the band where it had rested since it was forged. Looping the chain around her fist, she held the treasure close to her heart, and ran.

[Flesh]

Content Warning: Cannibalism

I sink my teeth into your flesh

Beautiful red droplets, looking perfect against your pale skin, I swallow chunks of your flesh and sigh

Feeling content as you do the same.

We lay side by side.

The pain of an afterthought

It is overshadowed by the electricity around us

The ground is stained red as we continue

To consume what’s left of one another

Our arms wrapped around each other

Pain has never hurt as good as it does right now in your arms

A gory display of affection

A grotesque picture of love

Until eventually, there’s nothing left.

Stella Gephart

Hands pressed against my ribcage

Blood curdled underneath my fingernails

You stand there on your ivy covered stage

Your dark dirty hair never seems to fail Your skin starts to rot

And your body starts to soil You looked to distraught Your arms covered in boils. But this is it, the deed is done Silence drowns the sound Before I leaped I should’ve seen The view from which you drown.

Stella Gephart

[waiting]

Violet Matsumoto

surely I wait for fungi, who envelop mehugging me to death

[The 200th Day of Darkness]

Vivian Collmer

It was July 19th, 2178, and the 200th day of darkness. Well, not day. Nothing could be called day anymore. Everything was just one never ending night, each “day” stretching into the next with no clear passage of time other than the tally of hours Penny had kept.

Penny lay on the icy ground, staring up at the pitch black above her. She searched, like she had for what felt eternity now, for any sign of light, any speck of hope. All that she saw was endless emptiness, gray on gray. She wasn’t sure how much longer this could last.

She shivered against her thin cotton blanket. It was cold, so cold. She tried to remember what warmth felt like; for a moment she could. She stretched out, warm rays dancing on her skin… only to be replaced by reality, a sharp stinging cold filling her body.

She should be dead by now. She knew that. Everyone else was. Everything else was.

Penny could remember the first reports, nearly a year before it had happened. Scientists who had noticed the sun beginning to swell, who had spread caution, concern etched on their faces. Politicians who cared for nothing but power, using it as some sort of fivepoint-plan, arguing that if only they were in charge, nothing would happen. Families who created bunkers, people rushing to and fro in fear, buying out the stores. But… the initial shock wore off.

Everyone was so busy, and the sun wasn’t gone now, was it? It was probably just some wacko conspiracy theorists preparing once again for a doomsday that would never happen. So life went on. After a couple months, nearly everyone had forgotten about the whole spectacle.

Their blissful ignorance could only last so long.

On December 31st, 2177, people rushed about as usual, everyone in their own way of celebration. The smell of food wafted through the frigid night. There was laughing and dancing and lots

and lots of noise. The world was, in all senses of the word, alive. Only the “conspiratorial” scientists sat with discontent, worrying away at their nails, staring up at the sky. No one noticed anything unusual until about 11:50 pm. The sun had gone down hours before, but the sky was suddenly pierced by light, a fiery ball of yellowish red blazing through the night. Penny could remember staring up in awe, thinking it was some grand spectacle or firework. Everyone had paused what they were doing and gazed in wonder, the bright flash illuminating their faces.

The panic only started when people realized that this thing, this blazing ball of fire, was moving--directly towards them. People ran through the streets, screaming and crying. Parents hugged their children, pets hid under chairs and tables. And then, at 12:00 am, just as fireworks shrieked through the air and the panic hit full force, the sun made impact.

It was by pure luck that the sun only scorched half the earth, which happened to be the side Penny was not on. Pure luck that the sun collapsed then, before continuing, slowly defusing into what the few scientists left called a “white dwarf planet”.

Everyone left rejoiced at having escaped the sun’s fiery clutches, but those who had had any education soon sat in quiet mourning, for they knew what would come next.

As the hours turned to days, the absence of the sun brought negative temperatures so extreme that the earth froze over quickly. As the temperature went down, more and more people slipped away from hypothermia. After a week, everyone, everything, was gone. That’s what the scientists had said would happen. That’s what was logical. But there was one error in this understanding, there must have been. Penny was still alive.

Penny stayed, and she watched it all. Watched as everyone she cared about, everyone she had ever known, passed. Watched as the plants shriveled, turned cold and lifeless, watched as the earth froze through, nothing but frigid, barren land, littered with empty buildings and cities. The world became a husk of what it had been.

And she waited. God, had she waited. Waited for her moment, when she would fade along with anything else. And waited. And waited. And waited. But her moment never came.

The cold stung, but her body somehow regulated. She ate frozen food from abandoned grocery stores, ice chipping at her teeth as she devoured frost bitten burritos and pizzas. She wasted hours away

laying under thermal blankets, staring out into the darkness surrounding her. She searched, and searched, and searched for someone, anyone left.

She tried to understand. Why had the world punished her in this way? Why was she still here?

At night, she climbed up to the very top of the parking garage next to her house, layers wrapped around her shivering arms. She opened her mouth and screamed. It was a heartbreaking sound, a gut wrenching sound, a sound of pain that vibrated through the earth and poured out into the empty world around her. She wished, so desperately, for someone to hear her. But no one ever did.

At some point she gave up hope. As each day passed she could feel more and more of herself slipping away. It would only be a matter of time before she disappeared, joined the others.

On the 200th day of darkness, Penny climbed up to the parking garage for what she could feel would be the last time, her favorite childhood blanket wrapped around her. She lay down on the icy gray pavement and stared up into the neverending blackness before her.

She could feel tiredness curling through her. Her body and brain were exhausted, her fingers were numb. She could feel her insides collapsing, a sort of peace filling her body. She knew it was time. She closed her eyes, and—

A soft, bright voice rang out through the cold air. “Hello?”

[School]

Walden

After thriving under a toxic society for all these years it only comes natural. Human interactions have withered to painfully malignant intercourses. I was a passionate lover. No, not a romantic lover, but a lover of serenity. A lover of the peaceful ways of our elders. The elders that kept us away with their pesticide known as superiority. I was as content as they came, coming from content beginnings; wealth and success. Things were simple in this town, as mentioned, the facile living and bright exchanges, nothing could ruin it. School was only the opposite. The only word to describe it would be ‘different’. All cliques formed out of mysteria. Helplessness and apathy were two large pillars that held me up. The tips of the two pillars I lie on were very sharp; they would pierce the skin at times. Separated and isolated, I decided I’d lean toward the pestilential and deleterious complexion.

It helped, but it also pushed the lawful, adequate opportunities away and slimmed down their chances of coming to fruition.

Sometimes I wonder if all that time I could have consulted those I had faith in.

[Help]

Help

I am stuck in a continuous cycle

I’m cooped up in this bubble

But I’m too scared to pop it

Because I’m scared of losing it

For it is all I have

I just want to laugh again

I want to be happy

But I’m feeling crappy

I’m suffering but I’m forced to hide it

I need someone to be a guide

I’m scared and cold.

The smell of mold,

It’s overwhelming but it smells like home

But it’s not, and I feel alone

I don’t know what home feels like anymore, to me it’s just a building

It’s not thrilling anymore like it used to be Please let me free And let me be me. Help.

Zackary Zodrow : )

[Gathering]

Sophie Lin

[water’s welcome]

Zyra

sinking into inky depths frigid water embracing her limp form breath once escaped her bubbles popping before reaching the surface so far above her lungs long emptied soft rise and fall quieted by pressure no more than a reminder of the water’s gentle welcome

blue nothing was more a home to her than land could ever be the water creates silence

Wordsworth Literary Magazine

Vancouver School of Arts & Academics

Fall 2024 Issue “Apple of My Eye”

Cover Art by River Luna Garcia